


I'd Gladly Lose Me To Find You

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes a vow of silence in order to pull Dean out of Hell, but by the time Dean comes back, Sam's lost more of himself than just his voice. Splits off completely from canon after the season 3 finale.</p>
<p>Title is from The Who – Bargain, which ended up fitting the fic a lot better than I'd really intended.</p>
<p>Originally written for the 2010 SPNJ2 BigBang and posted here: http://flawedamythyst.livejournal.com/366852.html which is still where to go if you want to see the lovely art drawn for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Gladly Lose Me To Find You

There was only a minute left before midnight. Sam watched the clock tick down by the light of the circle of candles that he'd lit, hands clenching with nervousness. There was only the slightest chance that this was going to work, and if it didn't he wouldn't know for at least a year, but he had nothing else left to try.

The second hand ticked around to the hour and he took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice that was hoarse and caught dryly in his throat. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd last said anything, partly because he'd wanted a bit of practice before it really mattered if he accidentally let a word slip out, and partly because it was just easier for him to be 'the mute guy' right from the start in the small town he'd settled in. Besides, the only person he really wanted to talk to was gone.

“I, Sam Winchester, take a vow of silence in exchange for the body, breath, life and soul of Dean Winchester.” 

He paused, staying stock still for a moment in anticipation, but nothing happened to acknowledge him. No whooshing wind, no Hollywood-style special effects, not even some eerie candle-flickering. His doubt about whether this was going to work started to rise up again but he firmly squashed it. He'd committed himself now, he just had to see it through and hope like hell that he wasn't wasting his time.

****

He'd found a town to use as a home base in central Missouri, somewhere large enough for a mysterious stranger to pass unnoticed, but small enough that he didn't feel he was drowning in people. He had a job already, labouring for a gardening firm, and a cheap apartment that he'd be able to afford on his wages so long as he was careful. He'd gotten all the paperwork for both sorted out and signed off already – the book had been very clear on written communication counting as breaking his silence, and he wasn't going to risk messing this up by scrawling his signature on a form.

It was with that in mind that he'd sat down two days before taking the vow and carefully written out enough cash withdrawal slips to have one a month for the next five years. With his wages paid straight into his account, and all his bills automatically going out, it wasn't hard to work out how much money he was likely to need a month – it wasn't much.

His job was physically demanding, which he appreciated. If he came home exhausted at the end of the day, he slept deeper and dreamt less; fewer memories of Dean's blood-splattered screams as the hellhounds tore him apart forcing their way out of his subconscious. 

The company was pretty small – just Jack, the owner, and a guy called Benny. Jack was initially suspicious of hiring a mute, but Sam won him over in the first few weeks, showing up early every day and doing whatever he was asked to without complaint. 

Benny began to moan that Sam was making him look bad, which just made Sam shrug. Not his problem if Benny spent more time sucking on his cheap cigarettes and complaining about his wife than he did weeding. Sam just wanted to keep his head down, do the job and avoid getting too friendly with anyone. If he didn't know anyone, he'd never be tempted to talk to them.

Bobby called him a few times over the first couple of months, leaving increasingly annoyed and worried voicemails. Sam listened to them all, then hit 'delete' before he could be tempted to call back and ask Bobby what the hell he was doing. The book had been pretty clear about not letting anyone know what you were doing, or why, and Bobby was the kind of guy who wouldn't be able rest until he knew what was going on. It was better all round if Sam broke off contact with him – besides, the Winchesters had never brought Bobby anything but trouble. He should be glad to be shot of the last of them.

Sam had called him when he'd first gotten his apartment and told him that he was taking an indefinite break from hunting and settling down for a while. He'd given Bobby the address, but hinted as subtly as he could that he just wanted a clean break, nothing from the past showing up. Bobby had sounded a bit hurt by that, growling angrily about Sam being cut off from all the people who wanted to help him, but so far he hadn't driven down, despite the voicemails.

****

Sam had set himself up with a home-base and a job, and all the other trappings of a normal life, but he'd never meant to stop hunting. It was what he did, after all – who he was. He didn't need talking or writing to kill evil, even if it would have made maintaining a life spent in motels and relying on credit card fraud impossible.

A few weeks after he'd taken the vow, he noticed a rash of newspaper articles about people disappearing near a lake that was a couple of hours’ drive from the town he was living in. He followed them for a while until a woman was quoted as saying that something had pulled her husband into the lake while she watched, something strong and fast that she hadn't been able to identify. That was good enough for Sam.

That weekend, he headed out to the lake to take a look. Researching while maintaining his vow was even harder than he'd have thought – he ended up just going through old copies of the local paper, unable to even use the search facility on the database for fear that typing counted as written communication. The information he ended up with was a bit patchy – people had been disappearing near the lake for decades, at the rate of one or two a year. About three months ago the rate had dramatically picked up, and six people had vanished since then. The last had been pulled out of his chair while fishing, right in front of his wife, sucked under the waves in an instant and then never seen again.

Sam puttered around in the library for a while longer, trying to find local legends about the lake, but he already knew that there was only one thing for it. He was going to have to go and take a look, and probably end up spending the whole night wandering around in the cold and dark without finding anything. The prospect of doing it on his own made his gut clench with how much he missed Dean, how much he wished he was with him right now. Hunting without Dean brought home just how much Sam missed him far more than his smalltown life as a gardener – a life he could never imagine Dean in. He resolutely pushed the feeling away, telling himself that he'd get Dean back, he just had to be patient. He ignored the little voice that pointed out that he still didn't even know if this vow was going to work.

He was half right about that night – he did spend most of it wandering around, stumbling over tree roots and trying to pretend that he wasn't glancing over his shoulder for Dean out of habit. Then, just as the pale light of dawn was lightening the sky and he was starting to think about heading home, he saw a dark shape moving under the water.

He moved closer, right to the shoreline. A shallow slope ran down into the lake, greenish mud covered in slime visible through the water until a few feet out. The dark shape was too far away for Sam to be able to see more than that it was larger than anything non-supernatural he might expect to see here. He hesitated before pulling out his gun and stepping carefully into the lake, wincing as the cold water soaked into his boots. He waded slowly out, keeping his gun aimed at the shape. It was a long dark line that started moving faster while Sam watched, zig-zagging through the water in front of him as if taunting him. It probably was, he thought glumly. That seemed to be the way his luck was going at the moment.

He was standing a foot deep in the cold water when it made its move. He'd paused to try to get a good shot at it, hoping he'd be able to just kill the damn thing from there and then get the hell out of the lake and back to the Impala, where he had a dry pair of pants. Instead, it darted forward far faster than he could react to, grabbed at his left foot and pulled sharply, tugging him off balance.

He fell backwards hard, crashing into icy cold water, and while he was still off-balance the thing yanked hard at his foot again, pulling him out deeper. Sam could see exactly how this was going to end if he didn't move fast – once out of his depth, the creature would have a clear advantage, and he'd be breakfast. He moved almost instinctively, shooting wildly towards the water at his feet where the thing was. He didn't think he'd managed to hit it, but the grip on his foot abruptly released and the shadow moved off into deeper water.

Sam struggled to get his feet back under him, hoping that a fear of guns meant that bullets would actually kill the thing. The water was now as deep as his waist and all his clothes were soaking wet and weighing him down heavily. Just great. He'd have to change completely when he got back to the Impala – both Dad and Dean had had very strict rules about wet clothes and leather seats, and Sam couldn't bring himself to even contemplate breaking them now that the car was technically his. It was never going to feel as if he didn't have their ghosts watching over him around her, making sure he didn't do anything sacrilegious, like fitting seatbelts.

The creature had completely disappeared and he thought for a moment that he'd frightened it off entirely. Just as he was wondering if he'd have to come out here again tomorrow, it reappeared, darting back in even faster than before and coiled around his legs. He almost fell again but kept his footing at the last minute, although his gun went flying, falling into the water somewhere nearby with a splash.

He could see the creature properly now that it was writhing around his legs. It was a serpent of some kind, at least ten feet long and as thick as a tree, green scales covering its body. It took him another moment to realise what it was doing – winding its body in loose loops around his legs, loops that it would no doubt pull tight soon. He pulled out his knife and started slashing at it, blackish blood welling up in the wake of his cuts. 

The serpent reacted violently, the long length of its body whipping through the water, and then it reared up above the surface and Sam got his first look at its head. Or rather, heads, because there were two of them, both with wide, hissing mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth. He moved almost automatically, stabbing his knife at them, but the serpent moved even faster, tugging at his legs with its body even as its heads moved in to strike. Sam went falling backwards into the water again, and the next few minutes were a horrible confusion of water and serpent as he tried to stab the damn thing without drowning while it tried to sink its teeth into him.

_This would be so much easier if I had some back-up,_ he thought as he tried to hold back one snapping set of jaws and get some air into his lungs at the same time. The thought seemed to reverberate in his head, reminding him of Dean's absence all over again so that it almost felt like physical pain, and he lost track of what was happening for a moment. It was just long enough for the serpent to gain the advantage, pulling him completely under the water and sinking the teeth of its other head into his wrist. He let out an exhalation of pain that came out as bubbles, then sank his knife hard into the serpent's face, right between the eyes. The head reared back, letting go of his arm, and the water was suddenly full of black blood. The other head let out a shrieking hiss and went for Sam's face but he was ready for it, slashing hard at its eyes and then driving the knife into its neck as it flinched back.

The coils around his body loosened and he pulled himself up and away, leaving the serpent to its death throes while he gasped in some much needed air. His lungs were burning, he was soaking wet, his whole body was aching with exertion and his wrist felt like it was on fire, lines of bleeding bitemarks circling it. He tried to find the sense of satisfaction that he usually had after a hunt, of having fought something unimaginable to most people and bested it, but it was missing this time. He struggled to the shore and collapsed on a log for a moment to catch his breath before he headed back to the Impala.

He was never hunting alone again, he realised after a few moments. Not because it made him miss Dean even more than he usually did, or because the research had been so damned hard without being able to ask questions, or even because he'd come so close to death; but because of something far worse. There'd been a split second after the serpent had first tipped him into the lake when he'd filled his lungs with air and shaped his mouth for a swear word – an almost instinctive reaction – and he'd had to bite down hard on his cheek instead when he suddenly remembered why he couldn't say it. 

He'd nearly lost his chance at getting Dean back over something as stupid as a swear word, just because he'd been lost in the moment. He couldn't ever let that happen again, so he'd have to give up hunting completely. There were other hunters around, after all, but he was the only person who could save Dean, the only person who could get him back from Hell. Nothing was more important than that and if it meant a few years without hunting, living a completely civilian life, then that's what he'd do.

****

A year after Sam had taken his vow, he got his first sign that it was actually worth it.

He was watching some crappy film, thinking about how Dean would have gotten a kick out of how often the lead female's breasts were being flashed for no reason, when there was a loud thud from his bedroom. He got up fast, senses on high alert and pulse racing, and rushed through to find Dean lying on his bed, sprawled as if he'd fallen from a height. Sam had to bite his tongue to stop himself from crying out his name in relief and covered the distance to the bed in one giant step.

It was just Dean's body, not Dean himself. It lay cold and motionless, not even breathing, and Sam had to swallow back the lump in his throat, remembering the last time he'd seen it, wrapped in white sheets as he and Bobby set fire to the pyre.

Unlike then, though, Dean's body was flawless. The deep wounds from the hellhounds' teeth and claws had been healed as if they never were, nothing but smooth skin stretching out before Sam's eyes. Even the scars Dean had had from older injuries had been erased as if they'd never existed, everything from bullet wounds to tiny cuts that Sam wasn't sure he was even meant to remember Dean having. The only mark left on his body was his tattoo, just as fresh and black as it had been when it was new. Sam reached out and touched one finger to it gently, remembering the way Dean had joked about getting the symbols from Zeppelin IV instead as they'd sat in the waiting room, and that the only physical acknowledgement of pain he'd made during the process had been in the minute tensing of the lines around his eyes.

Sam spent several hours that night just looking at Dean's body, reminding himself of his face, cementing the image in his head. He was horrified to find that it had already begun to blur in his mind, the exact shape of his nose getting lost somewhere in the haze of his memory. Now that Dean's body was back, Sam could content himself with looking all he wanted, especially as Dean wasn't there to complain that he was being weird.

In the end, though, he couldn't hide from the truth of Dean's unmoving chest and closed eyes. Dean was still dead, and it was going to be a long time before Sam would have him back completely, alive and real. He rearranged Dean's limbs, straightening them out into a mockery of sleep as if he could pretend that Dean would wake up any moment, then went back out to the living room and slept on the couch.

****

He spent the next year sleeping on the couch. It was uncomfortable and too short for his legs, but he wasn't going to sleep in the same room as Dean's dead body and he couldn't stomach the idea of moving him – stashing his body away somewhere as if it was unimportant. He left it laid out on the bed with the bedroom door firmly shut, although he couldn't resist going in there every few days, just to look at Dean's face and remind himself what he looked like. Knowing that he was there, that this crazy plan was actually working, was worth sleeping on the couch.

The body remained exactly the same as when it arrived – cold and pale and perfect, but without any signs of life. It didn't decompose like a normal body would have, just stayed frozen in time like a wax doll. Sometimes Sam couldn't stand even knowing it was there, lurking behind the bedroom door like a guilty reminder, and he had to take the Impala out for a drive, heading out of town and bombing down the country roads at speeds even Dean would have frowned at. Somehow he always found himself back in the room afterwards though, staring down at the way Dean's eyelashes fanned on his cheeks and fighting the impulse to touch his face. A year had seemed so long, how was he going to get through the three that remained before he had Dean back properly?

****

He'd been living in the same place and going through the same routines week-after-week for long enough that some of the people he ran across treated him as part of the town. The assistant in the grocery store always kept up a cheerful stream of gossip as she scanned his shopping, ignoring Sam's silence and his ignorance of whom she was talking about. His neighbours across the hall nodded to him when they passed him, calling out greetings Sam couldn't return, and sometimes brought his mail up for him, not that there was much of it.

Jack and Benny at work treated him as one of the guys, including him in their banter without expecting any response, and sometimes Sam had to swallow back the memory of how he and Dean used to rib each other in the same way. They'd have that again, they would. He just had to keep going with this, stick it out, and he'd get to hear Dean calling him 'Samantha' and making fun of his hair again.

Jack asked him over to watch the game a few times, but he didn't seem offended when Sam just shook his head with an apologetic expression. As far as he could tell, the gossip was that he was an ex-soldier who'd had a hard time of it, and his antisocial attitude was taken in stride.

Bobby turned up halfway through the year without warning. He knocked hard on Sam's door, then barrelled in as soon as Sam opened it. 

“I stayed away for long enough, boy,” he said. “You can't hide away forever.”

Sam stared at him, simultaneously relieved to see Bobby's familiar face and suddenly, horribly scared. It was so good to see him again, to have someone there who'd known and remembered Dean, who knew more about Sam than just surface details and a fake cover story, but at the same time he was suddenly acutely aware of the corpse lying in his bedroom, and that if Bobby found it and put it together with Sam's silence and a bit of research, he could destroy everything Sam was working for.

He grabbed at Bobby's sleeve, stopping his march inside, and Bobby turned back to frown at him. 

“I ain't going anywhere until I know you're okay,” he said firmly. “You can spare me a couple of hours now, or put up with me hanging around bugging you for as long as it takes.”

Sam nodded. He should have known he wouldn't be able to pull this off for five years and not have Bobby come by. His eyes flicked to the shut bedroom door again, and he thought hard. He couldn't explain anything to Bobby, didn't even have a way to tell him he wasn't talking, and everything in him was crying out that he needed to get Bobby away from Dean's body. He squeezed Bobby's arm, then turned to pull on his coat.

“Come on, boy,” said Bobby, desperation lacing his voice. “Don't shut me out.”

Sam shook his head, frowning. He grabbed his keys, and Bobby's hand closed over his, squashing them into his fist. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, sarcasm overlaying his obvious worry.

Sam shook his head again, then shrugged helplessly. Bobby's frown deepened. 

“You not talking at all?” he asked. “Lost your voice?” Sam looked at him helplessly, unable to explain, and Bobby sighed, letting go of his hand. “Goddamn, boy, what's going on with you?”

Sam didn't have an answer to that so he just opened the door and gestured Bobby to go out, following him and then locking up behind him. Bobby didn't say anything as they walked to the nearby diner where Sam ate sometimes, when he couldn't be bothered to cook.

When they walked in, Jenny the waitress smiled at Sam then widened her eyes almost dramatically when she realised he was with someone. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Uh, your usual booth is free – do you both want to start with coffee?”

Sam nodded, but Bobby jumped in before Sam could usher him over to the corner booth. “Sam comes here a lot?” he asked. “Since when?”

Jenny blinked. “Uh, for a year, maybe?” she said. “I can't really remember.”

“Does he say much?” pressed Bobby.

Jenny laughed. “Oh, Sam never says anything,” she said. “Everyone knows that.”

Sam grabbed Bobby's arm firmly and led him away before he could ask more questions.

“Everyone knows, do they?” asked Bobby in an undertone. “You've been mute over a year, and everyone knows except me? Damnit, Sam, you don't have to do this.” They slid into the booth, and Bobby leaned forward to get his point across. “I know you miss Dean, but this is no way to deal with it.”

Sam clenched his hand into a tight fist of frustration just as Jenny brought their coffees over. 

“Here you are,” she said brightly. “Can I get you any food today?”

“That'd be good,” said Bobby. “And can I borrow your notepad, and a pen? Just for a couple of minutes.”

“Uh, sure thing,” she said, handing them over, then heading off to find a couple of menus.

Bobby put them both in front of Sam. “All right,” he said. “What's going on?”

Sam looked at the blank page for a moment, his fingers twitching for the pen. In some ways, giving up writing had been harder than giving up talking. He missed having a pen in his hand, being able to do the crossword, or just being able to doodle along the edges of the newspaper while he read. He took a deep breath, looked at Bobby, and shook his head sadly.

Bobby growled with frustration and Jenny came back with their menus. Bobby made a visible effort to rein his emotions in, then smiled at her. 

“Guess you can have your notepad back. Doesn't seem he's in a writing mood either.” 

She picked them up, glancing curiously at Sam. “Thanks.”

“What else do you know about Sam, then, as he doesn't seem too willing to tell me?” asked Bobby.

She looked taken aback, clutching at her notepad and glancing uncertainly at Sam. Sam sighed and ran his hand through his hair, then shrugged at her, indicating that he didn't mind her saying anything. 

“Uh, not much,” she said. “Just that he comes in here every couple of weeks. Didn't even know his name was Sam until you came in.” She thought for a long moment. “He always tips real good,” she offered.

Bobby half-laughed, nodding as if he could have guessed that. “Yeah, that sounds like him,” he said.

Bobby kept up a stream of questions through lunch, trying to find out about Sam's life just from nods and headshakes. Sam found it increasingly frustrating that he couldn't just tell Bobby about his life, or ask any questions of his own. This was why he'd kept away from Bobby, from everyone he knew – it was so much easier to keep silent around strangers than it was when he was faced with someone he cared about.

Bobby insisted on paying and Sam couldn't really argue, then they walked slowly back to Sam's apartment. Just before he got back in his car to drive home, Bobby paused and looked hard at Sam. 

“You're not happy,” he said bluntly. Sam could only twitch his head in acknowledgement of that. “Tell me you're at least working on fixing that.”

Sam thought of Dean's still body upstairs, of the seven months left before Sam pulled the next part of him back from the Pit, and nodded. Bobby looked unconvinced, but he let it go with a sigh.

“Well, you know you're always welcome at mine,” he said. “If you ever get sick of this.”

Sam nodded again, then hugged Bobby impulsively. It was good to see him again, to know that someone cared enough to hunt him down and yell at him. Bobby gave him a surprised pat on the back, then pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Well, okay,” he said. “I'll come see you again, anyway. No more hiding away from me.” 

Sam nodded and Bobby got in his car and drove away, leaving Sam to go back up to his silent apartment. He went straight into the bedroom, unable to stop himself, and watched Dean's still body for a while, thinking about how Bobby would react to having him back alive when all this was done.

****

When midnight ticked around at the end of Sam's second year of silence, he was in his bedroom, eyes fixed on Dean's face. He thought in the final few seconds that he was going to be sick from the tension, then Dean's body took in a deep breath, the rough sound of it breaking through the silence like a wave crashing onto the shore. Sam held his own breath as Dean's ribcage began to rise and fall, the steady pattern of it the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. He put his hand on Dean's chest and he could feel his heart beating, blood pumping through his body and starting to warm his skin. Sam clenched his other fist, nails biting into his skin, wanting to shout out loud with joy.

He stayed the night there by Dean's side, feeling the life flooding back into his body. It felt like Dean was just asleep now – deep asleep, but Sam could let himself believe that he'd wake up in just a few short hours, glare at Sam and demand coffee.

Sam found it harder to keep sleeping on the couch after that. He found himself worrying that if he wasn't there, Dean might stop breathing again, might go back to the lifeless corpse he had been for the last year. He found himself getting up several times in the night just to go and check. He'd put his hand onto Dean's forehead and feel the heat soak into his skin, or feel Dean's heart beating in his chest. In the end, he just shifted Dean's body to the side of the bed and slept next to him every night, grateful that he'd got a king-size when he moved in, and trying to pretend it wasn't creepy and weird to be sleeping every night with the unconscious body of his brother. It wasn't as if they'd never had to share a bed when they were kids, after all. This really wasn't that different, and the couch really was uncomfortable to sleep on, and if he told himself often enough that it was the practical thing to do, he could suppress the uncomfortable prickle under his skin that knew this wasn't normal behaviour.

****

Bobby took to coming down once or twice a month, taking Sam out for lunch and filling him in with all the goings on in the hunting world. Sam was interested to hear about the people he knew, but the whole idea of hunting seemed a million miles away from him now. He could tell Bobby was trying to spark some interest in him, 'save him' from his reclusive existence, but he couldn't imagine going back to that now. He just had to keep doing what he was doing until Dean was back. Nothing else mattered.

In March that year, Benny's wife gave birth to their first child.

“A son,” he announced proudly. “We're calling him Frederico, after my father.”

“Congratulations,” said Jack, clapping him on the back. “We'll have to go to the bar after work, wet the baby's head.”

Benny beamed. “That sounds like a great plan.”

“You'll come right, Sam?” Jack asked, and Sam hesitated. He'd been working with these guys now for over two years, watching their lives unfold, and he knew what a big deal this was for Benny.

“Come on, Sam,” said Benny, sensing his wavering. “I have a son – a son!”

Sam rolled his eyes, then nodded. What harm could it do?

Jack grinned. “Well, there's a miracle bigger than a baby,” he said. “Sam Winchester deigning to drink with us mortals.”

Sam snorted and turned away to start getting their equipment out of the van.

****

It was weird being in a bar again. The clack of the pool tables at the back made Sam ache suddenly for Dean, for all the evenings when he'd sat in a booth with his laptop and a beer and all he'd needed to do was to raise his eyes to see Dean, swaggering around with a cue, talking shit to the locals and likely getting himself into trouble.

Jack got the first round in and they raised the bottles to Frederico.

“Congratulations,” Jack said again, and Sam nodded his agreement, trying not to think about how Dean's body had been alone all day, and what if something had happened to it?

“Hope you're ready for five years of sleepless nights,” Jack added.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Benny. “Sleepless nights, screaming all the time, diaper changing... everyone's been warning me about the joys of babies.”

Someone wearing a leather jacket passed close by them, and the smell made Sam's throat clench. He took a long gulp of his beer to cover it.

“You just wait till the teenage years,” said Jack with a shudder. “Half the time they're desperate for money from you, the other half they hate you. It feels like someone swapped your kids for monsters for ten years.”

Sam focussed back on him, running through what he knew about Jack's two daughters and wondering if he should investigate. The jukebox started playing Highway To Hell and he couldn't stop his head whipping round to check who had put it on, losing his train of thought.

Benny groaned. “Oh, man, don't even start. I figure I've got thirteen years to prepare, right?”

Everything was too loud suddenly, all the people in the bar talking and laughing at once, voices blending together until Sam couldn't tell one from the other, until it felt like Dean's voice was mixed in there somewhere and if he could just pick it out from the rest he'd be able to find him. He stared around at the bar, looking at everyone, trying to spot where Dean might be hiding.

“Hey, Sam, man, you okay?” asked Jack, sounding concerned. Sam didn't hear him for a moment, too intent on studying the figures playing pool. Jack put his hand on his arm, and Sam jumped, his beer spilling over in his hand.

“You okay?” Jack repeated.

Sam nodded, then changed his mind. He shook his head, and put his beer down. He shrugged apologetically at Benny and stood up.

“You're going?” asked Benny, sounding surprised.

Sam nodded again, eyes glancing uneasily around. Someone was laughing in a corner, and it almost sounded like Dean – or how Sam thought he remembered Dean sounding. Suddenly he realised he couldn't remember the exact note of Dean's laugh, and nausea began to well up in his stomach.

“You need anyone to come with you?” Jack said, and Sam shook his head without meeting his eyes. He shrugged again, then took off, getting the hell out of the bar before he lost what little grip he had.

Outside, the summer evening air was cool on his face and he leaned back against the wall and took a couple of deep breaths. He had to get home, he had to see Dean and feel the rhythm of his breathing to make sure he was really there, in the silence of his apartment where it was just the two of them.

He walked home fast, his head down, ignoring the rest of the world. When he got in, he went straight to the bedroom, straight to Dean. The moment he saw his face, it was enough to lift the weight crushing his lungs, letting him breathe clearly again. He rested his hand over Dean's heart for a moment, then crawled into the bed next to him, where he could watch the air moving in and out of his lungs.

It wasn't quite enough, not even when Sam edged close enough to feel Dean's heat under the covers. Tentatively, he put his head down on Dean's chest, resting his ear where he could hear his heartbeat. It felt weird for a moment and his spine tensed, almost expecting Dean to wake up and shove him off, horrified, but Dean didn't react at all, not even with a change in breathing. Sam relaxed against him and shut his eyes, shutting out the rest of the world. He lay there for a long time, calming down, and eventually he drifted off to sleep.

****

The next day he shrugged off Jack and Benny's concern as best he could, then hurried home to be with Dean. He took to spending as much time as he could in the bedroom, eating in there, reading in there, even moving the TV in there. Somehow he felt less alone when he could hear Dean's breathing and just had to glance over to see his face.

The next time Bobby drove over, he was half-tempted not to answer the door so that he didn't have to leave Dean, but he knew Bobby would only break in and yell at him if he didn't let him in. Instead, he ate as fast as he could, doing little more than nodding at what Bobby was saying, and then hurried out of the diner as soon as he could justify it.

Bobby frowned at him before he left. “You doing okay?” he asked. Sam nodded impatiently. “You don't seem to be getting any better at coping with Dean's death,” Bobby noted, and Sam flinched, scowling. Bobby glared at him. “I miss him too,” he said. “Hell, I miss you, come to that. Seems like I lost both of you when he died.”

Sam felt bad about that but when this was done, when Dean was home, Bobby would get them both back. Everything would be like it had been before. Bobby sighed and muttered something to himself as he got in his car, but Sam didn't hang around to watch him drive away. He had to get back to Dean.

****

On the eve of the fourth year of his vow, Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed, waiting with bated breath. It wasn't until a couple of seconds after midnight that the change came, and Sam felt bile rise up in his throat at the fear that maybe he'd gone wrong somewhere, maybe nothing was going to happen and he'd just be stuck with Dean's unconscious body for the rest of his life. Then Dean's eyelids flickered and opened, and Sam got his first look at the green of Dean's eyes in over three years. It was more intense than he'd remembered and for a moment he wanted to reach out and touch Dean's cheek. He restrained himself as Dean's gaze flickered blankly around the room, taking in his surroundings.

His face stayed expressionless and there was no sign of anything that qualified as Dean behind his eyes, but it was enough to make Sam giddy with excitement and success. After a minute or two, Dean sat up in one quick, sharp motion, the blanket falling away from his body.

Sam felt like he was watching a new world begin, seeing Dean look around and be conscious for the first time since Lilith had claimed his soul. He reached out and touched Dean's shoulder, unable to stop himself, and Dean turned and stared at him. There was nothing in his eyes that registered any emotion at seeing Sam, and Sam felt a rush of disappointment and sorrow. He couldn't remember Dean ever looking at him so blankly and for a moment it felt like a knife in Sam's heart. This still wasn't Dean, not really. It was just as much an empty shell as the unconscious body had been.

Dean was still staring at him, body held perfectly still under Sam's hand, but when Sam let go, he swung back around to face the wall in front of him instead, as if it held just as much interest. Sam took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was still one step closer to getting Dean back properly.

****

Dean needed a lot of looking after now that his body was fully awake. He needed all the things that human bodies needed, things he'd survived without for two years, but he couldn't do any of them for himself. He'd just sit for hours, perfectly still and staring at nothing, while his stomach rumbled noisily or his bladder gave out. Sam had to build a whole new routine for them, leading Dean to the kitchen for breakfast in the morning, then to the bathroom before work. Dean's body remembered enough to eat if food was in front of him, or to pee if a toilet was, although he never flushed. Then again, when Dean had been alive he'd never been great at remembering that either.

Sam led him to the sofa and sat him down before heading out to work, leaving him staring blankly at nothing. For a while he left the TV on for him, but after a few days of coming home to find Dean staring at the wall rather than the screen, he stopped bothering. There was no point in driving up his electricity bill just to make himself feel less uneasy about the emptiness of Dean's stare and the slack look on his face.

Five days after Dean's eyes first flickered open, Sam started adding a daily shower into the routine when he realised where the funky smell was coming from. As long as he got Dean undressed and standing under the water, soap in hand, Dean would take it from there, but Sam still felt kind of odd about having to strip his brother down, then dress him afterwards. It felt like an invasion of his privacy somehow, even though Dean had never been exactly shy about being naked in front of Sam. He just kept telling himself that it was like looking after him when he was stupidly high with a fever, or injured so badly he couldn't do it himself, but it felt different with Dean just passively accepting it instead of sulking and muttering dark comments to himself.

****

Looking after Dean now that he was like this took a lot of time, and Sam was even more reluctant to leave him alone unless he had to, even though Dean didn't seem to notice any difference between Sam being in the room with him and being alone. Sam stopped going to the diner at all unless Bobby was with him and even then, he couldn't stop himself from checking his watch constantly, wishing there was some way to get Bobby to stop coming down and taking him away from looking after Dean.

The third time Bobby came down after Dean had woken up, Jenny settled them in a booth, then said, “Haven't seen much of you lately, Sam. Hope you haven't gone off our food!”

Sam shook his head and forced an apologetic smile, and Bobby frowned. “He's not been coming in?”

Jenny shook her head. “Only with you. I'll just get you some menus.”

Bobby turned his frown on Sam after she'd gone. “You been busy?” he asked. “Found something to do with all your free time? Or just getting even more reclusive?”

Sam pursed his lips and half-shook his head, not sure which question he was answering.

Bobby sighed. “Goddamn, boy,” he said wearily, but didn't follow up with anything else. Seemed like he was as tired of hounding Sam about his mental state as Sam was of having to dodge his concern.

****

It took Sam a while to notice that Dean was getting fat. When he finally did notice the increasing ring of weight around Dean's waist, he had to sit down for a moment and take a deep breath. His whole life, Dean had kept himself as fit as he could – despite all the bad food he ate, he'd always had a flat stomach. Seeing his body falling out of condition was like a blow right to Sam's solar plexus. He was letting Dean down – not taking care of his body as well as Dean would if it was up to him. He couldn't bring Dean back to his body if it was overweight – Dean would never let him hear the end of it.

He couldn't exactly take Dean to the gym, though, not in his current condition. He looked at Dean for a long moment, stripped naked in preparation for his shower and standing completely still in the middle of the bedroom. Maybe Sam could take him walking, or even jogging – Dean followed wherever Sam led him, as long as Sam held on to his arm. That would mean leaving the apartment though, taking Dean outside, where someone might try to hurt him, or ask questions.

Sam took a deep breath and got back up, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder to guide him into the bathroom. He was meant to be taking care of Dean and the threat of Dean developing health issues from inactivity was surely worse than someone bothering to interfere with the strange mute guy and his friend. Besides, it wasn't like Sam couldn't just pack Dean into the Impala and put this town in their rear-view mirror if anyone got too interested in them.

The next evening after work, Sam dug Dean's old running shoes out of the trunk of the Impala and put them on his feet. Sam hadn't bothered putting shoes on Dean since he'd woken up – he usually just dressed him in sweatpants and t-shirts, which was all he really needed for sitting around the house. Dean didn't show any interest in them though, just sat and watched Sam's hands move as he tied the laces, then went back to staring at nothing as soon as Sam stopped.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then told himself firmly that it would all be fine. Just because he was taking Dean out of the safety of the apartment didn't mean anything was going to happen to him. He stood up and took Dean's hand, pulling gently until Dean stood up as well. He lead him to the front door, took another breath, and eased it open, hoping like hell that they wouldn't run into anyone inside his building who'd be likely to try to talk to them.

They made it safely outside and Sam headed down the street towards the nearest park, Dean's hand firmly held in his. Dean walked next to him, his steps as stiff and rigid as a robot's, keeping exact pace with him. Sam tried not to think about the picture they must make together, two guys holding hands and walking down the street. Dean would be pissed if he knew, but he wasn't around and he needed Sam to do this for him.

Sam settled for walking Dean around the park until Dean's breath started labouring, unaccustomed to the exercise, and then he led him back home. He took him out again the next evening, and every evening after that, gradually building their speed up until they were jogging around the park. Dean grew fitter, able to run alongside Sam without his body getting worn out, and Sam was pleased to notice that after a few weeks, the excess weight had dropped away.

****

“So, Sam,” said Jack as they weeded a border together. “You got anything you want to get off your chest?”

Sam looked up from the soil to frown at him.

“Oh, yeah,” said Benny with a snort. “He's just going to open up and tell you his life story.”

Jack ignored him. “Noleen said she saw you out jogging the other day. With a guy.”

_Oh, crap,_ thought Sam.

“And?” asked Benny. “Dude's allowed to have friends, surely, even if he doesn't talk?”

“She said they were holding hands,” said Jack, his eyes firmly fixed on Sam's face. Sam couldn't hold back a wince.

Benny raised his eyebrows. “Seriously, man?” he asked. He looked at Sam with surprise. “Didn't know you played for that team,” he said, sounding almost disappointed.

Sam half-shrugged. He didn't, not really, but he couldn't explain, and there was no way people weren't going to jump to conclusions. Besides, he really couldn't find it in himself to care what people thought of him, especially not when it came to Dean.

Benny made a face that Sam wasn't sure he was meant to see and bent back down to the border. “The things you learn about a guy,” he muttered.

“I guess he's why you never have time outside work,” said Jack. Sam nodded because that, at least, was true. “Maybe you could bring him along next time we have a drink, then,” suggested Jack.

Sam shook his head, with some regret. He felt bad that after so long working with him, Jack was still trying to get him to socialise and all Sam could do was keep shooting him down. Jack sighed and turned back to the weeding.

“Offer's always open,” he said.

Benny was a bit weird with Sam for a few weeks after that, making more snide remarks at his expense than was usual. He got over it after a while, if not without some prompting from Jack in the form of a firm talking-to, and after that the only difference was that Jack included 'your guy' in his invitations to Sam.

****

****

The closer the end of the fourth year of Sam's silence came, the harder he found it to contain his anticipation. This was it – the one that would bring Dean back to him fully, put his personality back behind his eyes and a grin on his face rather than the blankness Sam was so tired of seeing. After that he'd have just one more year left of his vow, and then they could both forget that these few years had ever happened.

Well before midnight he had Dean sitting on the sofa and was watching his face, tingling with anticipation. The minutes ticked by, feeling like years, bringing him slowly, so slowly, closer to getting his brother back.

When it came, it was like a lightning bolt. One moment Dean was staring blankly at nothing, the next he sucked in a sudden breath and his whole body came alive. Sam clenched his hands into fists, his heart feeling as if it had expanded several sizes and then contracted again.

“What the fuck, man?” asked Dean, looking around the room almost frantically. “Where the hell are we? What happened?”

Sam couldn't answer any of his questions. Instead, he leaned over, put his arms around his brother and held on as tightly as he could. Dean sat tensely for a moment, then relaxed into it, patting at Sam's back.

“Okay, man,” he said. “Jesus, calm down.” Sam felt tears well up at the sound of his voice, and dropped his forehead to Dean's neck, blinking them away. He had his brother back – he'd done it. One more year to seal the deal, and it would be permanent – no one would be able to undo it, not even the demons.

“Seriously, Sam,” said Dean, gently pushing Sam back. “What happened? Last I remember was...was Lilith, and the hounds. Where are we?”

Sam couldn't answer that – even if he'd been able to speak, he wasn't sure he'd be able to find his voice just yet.

Dean frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked, looking at Sam more carefully. His frown deepened. “You look older,” he said. “How long has it been?”

Sam felt so helpless, unable to answer any of Dean's questions. He glanced around the room for something with the date on it, but he hadn't bothered getting a newspaper for a long time, and a calendar had seemed like a waste of time when every day was the same. In the end, he grabbed the TV remote and flicked it on to CNN, where the ticker at the bottom displayed the date. Dean stared at it in shock.

“Over four years?” he said in a shocked voice. “I don't...I don't remember anything. Was I in Hell? I don't...” He looked at Sam, his eyes wide, and Sam felt frustration well up. He wanted to reassure him, explain everything, but if he broke his silence now, Dean would disappear, go back to the Pit, and nothing Sam could do would get him out again.

“Sammy,” said Dean. “Why aren't you talking? Did something happen to you? Come on, man, give me something here.”

Sam thought for a moment. He'd been so caught up in the idea of getting Dean back that he hadn't thought about how he'd manage to explain all this to him. He went into the bedroom and dug into a drawer until he found his cell phone. He turned it on and cycled through the few names until he got to Bobby and held the phone out to Dean.

Dean glanced it. “You want me to call Bobby?” he asked. “He going to explain why you're mute-boy all of a sudden?”

Sam nodded, then was forced to take it back with a rocked hand. Bobby didn't know, but he could explain more than Sam could right now.

The call to Bobby wasn't as successful as Sam could have hoped. Bobby hung up on Dean twice, clearly not believing it was really him. Eventually Dean got him to stay on the line by mentioning Sam.

“Sam's here, but he's not saying anything, and-”

“You've got Sam?” Bobby's voice said sharply down the phone. “Don't you hurt a hair on his head, or I'll make you wish you'd never even heard the name Winchester.”

“I'm not going to hurt Sam,” growled Dean. “It's me, Bobby, come on.”

“Dean Winchester's been dead for four years,” said Bobby. “No way you're him. You leave Sam alone, quit preying on his grief.”

“I'm not...” started Dean, then pulled his head back from the phone, frowning in disgust. “He hung up again,” he said. “Paranoid old bastard.” He looked at Sam, who just shrugged.

“You don't speak at all anymore?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head and Dean let out a long breath. “Great,” he muttered. “Well, unless even more than that has changed, Bobby'll be coming down here to 'rescue' you from me. I can talk to him then, I guess.”

Dean spent the next couple of hours wandering around the apartment, looking at everything and keeping up a running commentary that didn't do much to hide how freaked out he was. Sam just watched him, still unable to believe that he was actually back.

“Man, this place has nothing,” complained Dean. “It's like a motel room. Tell me you haven't been living here long?”

Sam just shrugged. He hadn't really been worrying about filling the apartment up with junk.

Dean shook his head. “Man, this is going to get really annoying, really quickly,” he muttered to himself and went into the kitchen. Sam felt his heart clench in the brief second he was out of sight, and followed close behind him.

Dean opened a few cupboards at random, then the fridge. “None of this really counts as food, Sammy,” he said. “Where's the greasy shit?”

Sam rolled his eyes and sat on the table. He'd been trying to keep Dean's body from having a heart attack over the last year, taking the opportunity to get it to eat healthily while he could, while it just ate whatever was put in front of it.

In the end, Dean poured himself a bowl of cereal, bitching about, “Wholegrain, Sammy – it's not right. And where's the sugar? Seriously, we're going to have to go shopping as soon as the stores open.” 

Sam didn't really listen, he just watched Dean's face, the way his mouth moved, the frown creasing his forehead, even the look in his eyes that said he was one step from freaking out completely. Dean was back – really back, all of him, whole and together and with Sam.

****

Bobby banged on the door like the secret police when he arrived, a couple of hours after the sun had started to shine through the curtains. Dean, who had been starting to flag, perked up and headed to answer it. Sam grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. If Bobby thought Dean was a monster, it would be better if Sam answered the door and Dean kept well back.

Dean squinted at him. “What?” he asked. “It's just Bobby, right? Not expecting anyone else?”

Sam shook his head, then pushed Dean back, towards the kitchen. Dean sighed and shook his head. “You worry too much,” he said, just as Bobby knocked again, even louder.

“Sam! Open up!” he yelled. Sam pulled open the door and Bobby glared at him, knife in hand. “What the hell is going on, boy?” he asked.

“Hey, Bobby,” said Dean, and Bobby's eyebrows shot up. Sam could see the exact moment he realised what he was seeing, disbelief bleaching all the other emotions off his face. A second later it was gone, covered over with anger.

“You got some nerve, using that face,” he growled.

Sam took his arm and squeezed it, trying to get his attention, and then emphatically shook his head.

Bobby frowned at him. “Look, Sam, I don't know what he's done to convince you, but you must know it's not Dean. We burned him, remember?”

“You burned me?” asked Dean. He glanced down at his body. “Guess that didn't take, then.”

Bobby's eyes narrowed and he pushed Sam aside to come in properly, hefting the knife in his hand. “What are you really?” he asked.

Dean held both hands up. “Chill, Bobby. It's me – Dean Winchester. My mom was Mary, my dad was John, my little brother's right over there although fuck knows where his voice has gone-” His voice started sounding slightly desperate, speeding up to get it all out while Bobby kept advancing on him. “You're Bobby Singer, your wife was killed by a demon, I've known you almost my entire life. You're like family to me.”

“You're not him,” growled Bobby and went for him with the knife. Sam reacted almost without thinking, darting forward and grabbing Bobby's arm, pulling him back before he could get anywhere near Dean. He gripped the knife, wrenching it out of Bobby's hand while he still had the element of surprise.

“Shit,” swore Dean, backing away further. “Come on, Bobby.”

Bobby struggled in Sam's arms and Sam held on to him tighter, hoping they'd convince him somehow before Sam had to actually hurt him. He really didn't want to hurt Bobby, but if it was a choice between him and Dean, it would be easy.

“It's _me_ ,” said Dean again. He picked up Bobby's knife and looked at it for a moment. “Silver, right? Well, if I was a...a shapeshifter or a revenant or something, could I do this?” He held up his arm and drew a careful line down it with the knife, blood welling up under the blade.

Sam let go of Bobby in shock. He strode over to Dean, pulled the knife out of his hand and threw it away, wishing like hell that he could yell at him. The last thing he wanted to see was more of Dean's blood.

“Jesus,” breathed Bobby. “Dean?” Sam ignored him, holding tightly to Dean's arm to check out the damage.

“That's what I've been saying,” said Dean. He tried to pull away from Sam. “Come on, man, it's just a cut.” Sam tightened his grip, and Dean wrenched his arm away. “Jesus, Sammy.” He frowned at Sam as if he was seeing something unwelcome, and Sam took a deep breath and forced himself to step back.

“Dean,” said Bobby as if it was a miracle, which it really was. He stepped forward and hugged him, holding on almost as tightly as Sam had.

“Bobby,” replied Dean, sounding relieved. “Jesus, Bobby. What the hell is going on? How am I alive? What’s going on with Sam?”

Bobby stepped away, shaking his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “About any of it.”

****

Sam made coffee. He needed something to do with his hands while Bobby explained what he knew of the last few years to Dean, something to distract him from all the parts that were wrong so that he wouldn’t open his mouth and interject with the truth. Being silent while Dean had been gone had been easy, but Sam was already beginning to realise just how much harder it was going to be now that he was back.

“So, Sam just stopped talking one day, and you’ve got no idea why,” summarised Dean.

“I think you’re missing the point,” said Bobby. “We’ve also got no idea how you got out of Hell.” 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’re going to get any answers on that one right now.” He frowned at Sam. “You still got your voice, right? No sudden accidents, or voice-stealing witches, or anything?”

Sam shook his head.

“Dean,” said Bobby wearily, “I’ve been asking him questions for years – you get nothing. If there’s something powerful enough to drag you out of Hell, though, we really should find out what. And why they did it.”

Dean sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Right. I’m just finding it hard to believe I’ve really been gone – feels like I just shut my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, Sam had gone all Tommy on me.”

Sam looked down at his mug. He hadn’t really thought how Dean would react – if anything, he’d have said that Dean would be pleased not to have to put up with his ‘whiny-ass bitching.’

“I get that,” said Bobby, “and maybe you’ll end up getting something out of him that I haven’t, but for the moment we need to concentrate on you. I can’t believe Hell just let you go, and there’s precious little else that could have got you free. I’ll have to do some research.”

Sam felt his eyes widen. If Bobby started researching ways out of Hell again, there was a distinct chance that he’d end up finding the same book Sam had and he’d work it all out. In which case, Dean would get sent back to Hell and this whole thing would have been for nothing. He put his hand on Bobby’s forearm and shook his head violently.

Bobby frowned at him. “No?” he said. “I shouldn’t research?”

Sam shook his head again, so hard that his bangs flew into his eyes and he had to push them back.

“Sam,” said Bobby, “don’t you think we should know what’s going on?”

“Unless he already knows,” said Dean, frowning. “Sam, did you do something?”

Sam hesitated, then shook his head slowly. It was more about what he hadn’t done, after all, and if Dean got a hint that Sam was up to something, he wouldn’t rest until he knew what.

“But you know something,” pressed Dean. Sam just shrugged, beginning to feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how much he could reveal without ruining everything, and he wasn’t willing to risk getting too close.

Dean looked frustrated. “Come on, Sammy,” he said. “What’s going on?” Sam just shrugged again and Dean made an annoyed, bitten-off noise.

“You don’t want me researching,” clarified Bobby. Sam shook his head. “And you can’t tell us anything.” Sam shook his head again. Bobby sighed. “Guess that’s it, then,” he said to Dean.

“That’s what?” asked Dean.

“There’s certain things that stop working if people know about them,” said Bobby. “Spells, rituals, deals and the like. If it’s something like that, and we press it, you could end up back in Hell, or worse.”

Dean didn’t look happy with that. He glared at Sam. “If you’ve done something stupid,” he threatened. Sam shook his head, then couldn’t stop himself grinning. Nothing he could have done to get Dean back, here and alive and pissed off, could have counted as stupid.

****

The traffic outside the window had increased to the morning rush hour by the time they’d finished their coffee, and Bobby glanced out at the road. “I’d better be going,” he said. “Car yard won’t run itself.”

He gave Dean another big hug before he left. “I’m mighty glad you’re back,” he said, then turned to give Sam a sharp look. “I won’t research,” he promised, and Sam felt himself relax slightly. “If I find out I should have, though…”

Sam shook his head firmly and stepped in for his own hug. He suddenly felt very grateful for Bobby, for a guy that would take several years of silence and being as good as ignored, and still drive through the night if he was needed.

After he’d gone, Dean let out a long sigh. “I’m beat,” he announced. “You got spare blankets so I can make up the couch?”

Sam glanced at his watch. He was cutting it close to being late for work. He shook his head, and pointed at the bedroom. 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You want me to take the bed?” Sam nodded. “Where are you going to sleep?” 

Sam shook his head, tapping his watch. It was becoming increasingly clear that he’d have to brush up on his Charades skills now that there was someone around he actually wanted to communicate with.

“It’s the wrong time?” frowned Dean. “Come on, man, we’ve been up all night – you’ve got to be just as tired as I am, unless you gave up sleeping as well as talking.”

Sam rolled his eyes, then tapped his watch again and pointed to the front door.

“You got somewhere to be?” guessed Dean. Sam nodded and Dean scowled. “I can’t ask where, of course,” he muttered. “This really sucks.”

Sam just shrugged and Dean sighed. “Guess I’m coming with you then,” he said. “I’m not letting you wander off god-knows-where.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Dean wasn’t going to be very impressed when he realised Sam was just going to work, but Sam felt a lot happier about Dean going with him than he did about leaving Dean alone in the house, even if he was just going to sleep. He couldn’t shake the feeling that if he let Dean out of his sight, he was going to come back and find him just a robot again, or worse. If Lilith turned up, or the hellhounds came back for Dean’s soul, Sam wanted to be there to stake his claim.

****

When Dean saw the Impala again, his face lit up and he ran his hands appreciatively over her body. “You kept her in good condition, then?” he asked. “How’s the engine?”

Sam shrugged, then gave a thumbs up. Dean nodded distractedly. “I’ll take a look at her some time,” he said. “You probably missed something.”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to feel annoyed, not even when Dean tried to insist that he was driving. It took him a while to realise that he didn’t know where they were going, and there was no way for Sam to give him directions.

“Just don’t drive like an old woman,” he grumbled, letting Sam slip into the driver’s seat. “But don’t crash, either.” Sam came very close to snapping back that he’d been driving the car every day since Dean had died, and had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he couldn’t let himself forget in the excitement at having Dean back, then started the engine.

Dean spent the entire drive making snarky comments about the things they passed by, about how Sam had ended up in a ‘dull as hell’ small town. Sam let him ramble on without getting annoyed, knowing that he was just trying to fill the silence. And besides, the town was pretty dull – it was one of the reasons that Sam had chosen it.

When Sam parked near the house where Jack had scheduled them to work that day, Dean couldn’t hide his curiosity, glancing around at the large houses on the road with a frown.

“What the hell are we doing here?” he asked. “You working as a gigolo to rich old ladies, Sammy?”

Sam ignored him, leading the way over the road to where Jack’s van was parked in the driveway of a large colonial-style house. He had to fight the urge to reach out for Dean’s hand to lead him, the realisation that he had all of Dean back flooding through him all over again. He firmly ignored the part of himself that was disappointed that he’d no longer have that excuse to reach out and touch Dean, to really know he was there.

Jack and Benny were already in the garden, looking at the empty flowerbed and discussing the best way to lay out the rose bushes they were planting today. When Sam arrived with Dean in tow, they both turned around and were momentarily shocked into silence.

“Hi,” said Dean, plastering on a charming grin. “I’m Dean. I have no idea who you are, or why we’re here, so if you could fill me in that would be awesome.”

Jack broke the silence first. “Uh, I’m Jack,” he said. “I’m Sam’s boss.”

Dean gave Sam a long look. “You did get a job?” he asked. “What about the, uh, family business?”

Sam stared back at him. _How can you have a family business when there's no family left?_ he thought fiercely, and something of it must have shown in his eyes, because Dean cleared his throat and turned back to Jack.

“Good to meet you,” he said. “I’ve been away a while, and I’m just trying to catch up with what Sam’s been up to.”

Jack glanced at Sam. “Well, Sam’s not exactly open with us about what he gets up to when he’s not at work.”

Dean nodded, eyes still on Sam. “So,” he said. “You’ve got the apartment, you’re a gardener, you stopped speaking...anything else I should know about?”

Sam shook his head firmly.

“Right,” said Dean. “Because you’d totally tell me if there was.” He sounded slightly bitter, and Sam clenched his jaw, wishing he could explain everything. _Next year,_ he thought. _I’ll sit him down and tell him everything. Just one more year._

Dean looked around the garden, at the pile of tools that Jack had stacked to one side. “I wouldn’t have said this was your kinda thing – not nearly geeky enough.”

“He’s a geek?” asked Benny with interest.

Dean looked surprised. “Biggest one I know,” he said. “Practically glued to his laptop.” He frowned and looked at Sam as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Guess that was before, though,” he added quietly.

Sam tried to remember the last time he’d been on a computer. He’d packed away his laptop with all his notebooks and pens when he’d taken the vow and they'd become useless to him.

“Before what?” pressed Benny. “Did he used to speak?”

“Couldn’t get him to shut up,” said Dean, ignoring the first question. He patted Sam’s chest with his hand. “I’m not hanging out while you play with the flowers, Sammy. Give me the keys so I can go back and crash.”

Sam handed them over reluctantly, wishing there was some way he could keep Dean around all day, somewhere in eyeshot, so he could keep reminding himself that he’d done it, he’d got his brother back. If Dean noticed his hesitance though, he ignored it, leaving as soon as he had the keys in his hand. Sam watched him go, thinking that he was probably going to take the Impala for a spin first and wishing he could go with him and settle into the passenger seat where he belonged.

“Sammy?” repeated Benny with a grin, and Sam felt like groaning.

****

The work day seemed to last ten times as long as it usually did. Sam kept suddenly remembering halfway through a task that Dean was back, and had to stop and take a deep breath to avoid doing something stupid like shouting out his glee to the world. Benny and Jack spent most of the day giving him puzzled looks out of the corners of their eyes that he suspected he wasn’t meant to notice.

“So,” said Jack after lunch, losing the battle between politeness and curiosity. “Who was that?”

Sam just blinked at him, then shrugged. How could he explain who Dean was in gestures? He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to do it in words – ‘brother’ had always seemed too simple to cover it all.

“Is he your new man?” asked Benny when Sam gave them no response, emphasising the word ‘man’ in such a way as to be simultaneously disapproving and morbidly fascinated.

Sam shook his head firmly, hoping like hell that that particular assumption about his sexuality never got back to Dean. That would just be way too awkward.

“Old friend, then,” asked Jack. “Or family?”

Sam nodded, and that seemed to satisfy them, at least until the end of the day, when Dean turned up in the Impala to pick Sam up. He’d swapped the sweatpants and t-shirt that Sam had dressed him in for jeans and a henley, and Sam presumed he’d found his duffel stuffed in the closet in Sam’s bedroom, along with most of their weapons. He looked cleaned up and well-rested, which Sam was now tired enough to find irritating. When Dean saw him and gave a big grin though, Sam couldn’t stop himself from grinning back.

“You’ve got dimples,” Jack noted. “Never seen them before today – whoever this Dean is, he’s good for you.”

Sam smiled at him, thinking that he didn’t know the half of it, and headed over to the car.

“Didja have a good day at school, kiddo?” asked Dean and Sam rolled his eyes. He slid into the passenger seat and let Dean drive him home, head resting against the window and eyes fixed firmly on Dean’s profile. He’d forgotten the thin crease that Dean would get in his forehead when he was concentrating on driving and the way he’d tap the steering wheel to an unheard beat while he was waiting at traffic lights.

Back at the apartment, Sam just really wanted a shower and then to go to bed, but he couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping through time he could be spending with Dean, so after his shower he forced himself to stay awake.

“I’m guessing you’re hungry,” said Dean. “And even if you’re not, I sure as hell am.” He ordered them pizza, then leaned back against the wall and stared at Sam for a long moment. His eyes took in every part of Sam, travelling up and down his body with a critical look.

Just as Sam was beginning to feel self-conscious enough to glare back, Dean let out a long sigh. “You’re skinny like a rake,” he said. “And your hair looks even stupider than it used to. Whatever you’ve been doing, you haven't been looking after yourself. And this speaking thing…” His voice trailed off, and Sam looked down at his feet, feeling awkward. He hadn’t been thinking about looking after himself, only about making sure Dean was okay.

“Man, I hate having a conversation with myself,” said Dean with a sigh, and sat down on the sofa next to Sam.

He put the TV on, flipping through the channels and complaining that they were still showing all the same crappy repeats that they had been when he'd died. Sam relaxed back and listened to him bitch, trying to keep the smile off his face.

When the pizza came, Sam was barely awake and he had to rouse himself sharply to eat it. He forced down a slice, then waved his hand at Dean, gesturing that the rest of it was Dean’s.

“Oh, no,” said Dean, “You’re eating more than that.” He picked up another slice and put it into Sam’s hand. “I don’t want a skeleton for a brother.”

Sam relented and forced a few more bites down, but he was exhausted and didn’t really have the energy for eating. Dean glared at him when he eventually gave up, muttering something to himself about mute anorexics, then cleared away the box.

“You should go to bed,” he said, making it sound like an order. Sam shook his head, forcing his eyes open in order to look more awake. Dean huffed an annoyed breath. “Course not,” he grumbled. “Clearly you gave up being sensible along with talking.”

Dean settled the TV on a baseball game and Sam tried hard to concentrate on it enough to at least keep track of the score. It only took a couple of innings for him to nod off though, only vaguely aware of the commentators’ voices in the background and Dean’s muted reactions in his left ear.

When he woke up, the TV was off, the room was dark, and Dean was gone. He sat up fast, fumbling with the blanket that had been draped over him at some stage. He went into the bedroom, heart in his mouth, to find Dean lying asleep in the bed. Sam had to take a deep breath and hold on to the doorframe for a moment, just watching. Dean was lying sprawled out on his stomach, one hand tucked under the pillow – completely different to how he’d slept when he’d been just a sleeping corpse or a soul-less doll, but somehow Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that it’d all been a dream, that Dean hadn’t come back fully at all.

He crept over to the bed and put his hand on Dean’s back, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt, and wished he had some reason to shake him awake. Dean’s breaths were long and steady, and Sam remembered the calm, passive way he’d breathed all of last year. His hand pressed down harder, and Dean’s eyelids flickered, then opened.

“Whassat?” he mumbled sleepily. “Sammy? What’s going on?”

Sam pulled his hand back, feeling like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He shook his head and stepped back, hoping Dean would just go back to sleep. Instead, Dean roused more, head lifting off the pillow.

“You want something?” he asked. Sam shook his head again and Dean made an annoyed, sleepy noise. “Why’d you wake me, then?” he asked, and his head fell back onto the pillow. “You can have the bed tomorrow night – I’m sleeping here now.” He shut his eyes and Sam watched him for several long moments, then left the room.

****

Dean spent most of the next few weeks trying to catch up with everything he'd missed from the last four years. He pulled Sam's laptop out of storage and spent hours every day on it while Sam was at work, finding out all the things that had changed.

“Hey, Sammy! There was a Captain America film – what was that like? Did they fuck it up?”

Sam shrugged. He hadn't been to the movies even once while Dean had been dead – in fact, having Dean read out what he considered to be the key events of the last four years – films, gossip about ageing rockers, sports – made him realise just how little he'd been paying attention to the world at all without Dean around.

Dean scowled and looked back at the screen. “Anyone would think you'd been dead as well,” he muttered. “We'll have to rent it.”

Sam spent most of those weeks trying to act at least a little bit normal around Dean, trying to hide how nervous he got every time Dean was out of sight, or how relieved he was every day when he finished work and Dean was waiting for him, still alive and awake. It made him feel like he had after Broward County, constantly on guard against even the smallest thing that might harm Dean while simultaneously trying to pretend that there was nothing wrong. He wasn't sure he was doing a particularly good job though, especially not when Dean tried to go off and do things on his own.

“There's a dude a couple of towns over with an Impala fan belt. I'll be back by lunch,” he said one Saturday morning.

Sam felt a familiar panic rise up in his throat, the fear that if Dean went off somewhere alone, he'd drop dead again. He shook his head and stood up, looking around for his coat.

Dean huffed an annoyed sigh. “I can go on my own, dude. I know the way.”

Sam shrugged and went to stand by the door in an obvious gesture. Dean gritted his teeth. “You're going to find it dull,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes – as if he'd find anything dull if Dean was there with him.

It was a lot easier to act normal during the day, though, than it was at night. The apartment only had one bed and Dean made it clear that he expected them to take turns sleeping in it. Sam couldn't get used to not being in the same room as Dean at night. However hard he tried to tell himself that there was only a wall separating them, the darkness always made his fears grow, his imagination working overtime until he couldn't remember if Dean was really back, or if he'd just hallucinated it.

Most nights ended with him creeping into whichever room Dean was sleeping in just to check he was there, hovering a hand over his chest and watching the breath slowly enter and leave his lungs. When the dawn came, he'd be crouching on the floor next to where Dean was sleeping, trying to tell himself that he was being ridiculous but too caught up in the miracle of Dean being alive again to care.

It got harder and harder to creep away in the morning before Dean woke up, to go back to where he was meant to be sleeping in order to lie awake, waiting for the sounds of Dean moving around so that he could get up and go back to being by Dean's side.

****

The other thing Dean did was to take over all the cooking and grocery shopping.

“I'm not eating what you think passes for food,” he said firmly, but he seemed to spend more time concentrating on what Sam was and wasn't eating than he did on his own meals. He took to adding things to the lunch Sam packed for himself every morning and sometimes he drove over and took Sam to the diner on his break, ordering him way more than Sam would have ordered for himself and glaring at him until he ate it all. 

When he dropped Sam off again, he'd ruffle his hair like Sam was a kid again. “Don't get into any trouble, Sammy.”

Sam would always watch him drive away, wishing there was some way to keep him there, then turn around to find Jack and Benny watching him, brows faintly creased.

“You sure he's not your man?” asked Benny, frowning. Sam nodded firmly, but Benny only looked more confused.

“Leave him alone,” said Jack firmly. “It's none of your concern, Benny.”

Benny let it go, turning away, but not before Sam heard him mutter, “Weirdo,” under his breath.

It wasn't as if Sam hadn't noticed over the last few years that he was becoming a bit weird, or that he didn't know that his dependence on Dean was a couple of steps beyond what was normal for brothers, it was just that he'd figured he'd be fine once Dean was back. It wasn't working like that though – however much Sam tried to tell himself that Dean was perfectly capable of looking after himself, he still couldn’t shake the certainty that Dean would somehow end up dead again if he let him out of his sight for longer than half an hour.

Being at work was almost impossible – by lunchtime, Sam was seeing Dean's corpse in front of his eyes with every blink, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on what he was doing or on whatever Benny was rambling about that day. He tried so hard to tell himself that he was being a moron, that nothing was wrong with Dean and he'd turn up at 5 as usual to pick him up, but somehow he always ended up working himself in a state of anxiety, right up until he heard the thrum of the Impala's engine as Dean drove up.

One evening, Jack collared Dean before Sam was ready to leave. “You known Sam long, then?”

Dean blinked, then laughed. “Only his whole life,” he said. “I'm his big brother.”

“His brother?” repeated Benny, glancing at Sam.

Dean followed his gaze. “Guess Sam hasn't been able to tell you that,” he said, and Sam could hear the note of frustration in his voice. He ducked his head, wishing for the hundredth time that he could explain his silence properly to Dean so that he wouldn't get so frustrated by it.

“Huh,” said Benny. “And I thought you guys were fucking.”

Dean's double-take was totally worth the uncomfortable prickling feeling down Sam's spine, and he choked out a laugh. Dean glared at him.

“Shut up, bitch,” he said. “What the fuck have you been up to, to give that impression?”

Sam shrugged, but he couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

Jack glanced at him, then nodded to himself. “I've been trying to get Sam to come out for a drink since he started working for me,” he said. “Didn't go so well the one time we tried it, but if you come along too, maybe he'll be more relaxed.”

Dean's glare morphed into something more worried. “Sam?” he asked. “You been avoiding bars?”

Sam shrugged again, uncomfortably. _I've been avoiding everywhere you're not_ , he thought, but he wouldn't have said that out loud even if he could.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Great,” he muttered, then turned to Jack. “We’ll come,” he said firmly. Sam tamped down a tendril of apprehension and nodded his agreement. After all, Dean would be with him.

****

They went to a different bar from before, one which was much quieter. Jack got the first round in again, and this time Sam was able to actually pay attention to the conversation.

“So, what do you, Dean?” asked Jack.

“Oh, a little bit of everything,” said Dean smoothly. “Nothing much at the moment. Guess I’m just mooching off Sammy.”

“What’s the deal with Sammy, anyway?” asked Benny, leaning forward slightly. Sam glared at him, and wasn’t surprised when Dean did too.

“There’s no deal,” he said firmly. “And he prefers Sam.”

“Right,” said Benny. “Then what’s up with the silent thing?”

“Benny,” said Jack, “quit being such a dick.”

Benny scowled and sat back. “We’ve been working with him for four years, and we still have no idea what his story is.”

“There’s no story,” growled Dean. Sam put his hand on his arm, wishing he could tell Benny where to shove it himself. Working with someone didn’t entitle them to your life history, even if it was one that could be shared.

“Right,” muttered Benny. “It’s perfectly normal for grown men to be mute hermits.”

Sam let out a frustrated breath and clenched at Dean’s arm.

“If this is going to be an interrogation,” said Dean, “then I reckon we’re going home.”

“No,” said Jack, “don’t.” He elbowed Benny. “Act like an adult, or you’ll be the one going home.”

Benny rolled his eyes. “Geez, sorry,” he said. “Didn’t realise it would be such a touchy subject.”

Jack changed the subject to football and Sam felt the tension slowly drain away. He wouldn’t have been able to contribute much to the conversation if he had been able to talk, but Dean clearly had spent some of his empty days catching up. Sam listened to him talk and felt a glow at the thought that it was because of him that Dean was sitting there, drinking a beer and shooting the shit rather than blowing as ashes on the breeze.

“Nah, I was more a baseball guy in school,” said Dean, and Sam blinked to realise that the conversation had moved on while he’d been spaced out. “Not that I was much good – never really had time for it. Sam was the one who got on a team – he played soccer.”

“Is that right?” asked Jack with interest. “I play on a soccer team most Saturdays – you should come down and join us sometime, Sam.”

Sam shook his head apologetically.

“Might be good for you,” said Dean, and Sam glared at him before he could finish the sentence. He didn’t need to be spending any more time doing things that weren’t with Dean, and the idea of soccer just seemed like a massive waste of time.

Dean raised his hands defensively. “All right, just an idea, Christ.” He glanced around at the bar, and moved his chair back. “I’m going to hit the head. Anyone want another beer while I’m up?”

“That’d be great,” said Jack, and Benny nodded his agreement. Sam blinked at his own bottle, wishing there was some way he could tag along, but he was pretty sure that attempting to follow Dean to the bathroom would only piss him off, and make Benny think he was an even bigger freak.

He took a deep breath and nodded at Dean, telling himself firmly that it was only a few minutes, and that Dean was perfectly capable of looking after himself, anyway. When Dean left, it still sent a tendril of fear down Sam’s spine.

“Didn’t know you played soccer,” Benny said to Jack.

Jack shrugged. “Needed something to get me out of the house and around some guys. Sometimes feels like I’m drowning in oestrogen.”

Benny grinned. “At least I won’t have that problem with Freddie,” he said.

The bar had got a lot more crowded while they’d been talking. Sam kept his eyes on the bathroom door, waiting for Dean to re-emerge. Time seemed to slow down, and he wondered what the hell was taking him so long.

“Next one might be a girl,” Jack pointed out.

Benny shrugged. “I'll still have Freddie,” he pointed out. “Unless he turns out to be a fairy.” A second later he winced and glanced at Sam. “Uh, no offence, man.”

Sam wasn't listening. His nails were biting into the palms of his hands, and the whole of the bar, everything except the bathroom door, was drowned under a cloud of darkness. Dean still hadn't come out of the bathroom, and then a group of girls moved in front of the door, blocking his view.

“Sam?” said Jack. “You still with us?”

Sam was distantly aware that he'd lost control of his breathing and was pulling in long, ragged gasps. A guy pushed past the girls, heading for the bathroom, and something about the set of his shoulders and his scraggly black hair vividly reminded Sam of a man in Maryland who'd taken exception to Dean winning at pool and broken his wrist with a crowbar. He was up and moving for the bathroom before he knew what was happening, images of Dean rolling on the floor in pain flashing through his mind.

Dean was at the sinks but he turned as Sam strode over to him. “Sammy? What the hell?”

Sam reached out a hand and put it on his chest, over his heart, and felt the steady beat against his palm. Dean was okay, he was fine, no one was going to hurt him.

“O-kay,” said Dean slowly. “You realise this is weird, right?”

Sam met his eyes, leaving his hand where it was, and just shrugged a little, feeling embarrassed but not wanting to step away from Dean until he'd got himself back under control. He was already breathing properly again, and the darkness had lifted from the edge of his vision.

“Jesus,” muttered Dean, putting his hand over Sam's and carefully prising it away. He didn't let go of it though, just loosely held it for a few moments, his thumb gently rubbing against the pulsepoint in Sam's wrist. “No wonder Benny thinks you're such a freak.”

Sam pulled away at that. He knew he wasn't completely normal after everything, that the last few years had fucked him up even more than the ones preceding them, but hearing it out of Dean's mouth was like a stab in the heart. However much he fought it and tried to pretend he was all grown up, he still just wanted his big brother to be proud of him.

Dean frowned at him. “Don't be like that,” he said. “I'm just...it's weird, coming back after so many years when they feel like just a blink to me, and you're so...different.”

Someone pushed at the door, and Sam jumped, stepping back instinctively closer to Dean, but it was just Jack.

“Everything okay?” he asked, sharp eyes taking in their close proximity and the way Sam's hand had reached automatically for Dean's sleeve.

“Yeah,” said Dean with a faked grin. “Peachy. Think we're going to head home now, get dinner going.”

“Oh, right,” said Jack, frowning slightly. “You okay, Sam?”

Sam nodded firmly.

“He'll see you tomorrow,” said Dean. “See you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” replied Jack and he stepped back to let them leave, but Sam could still see him frowning out of the corner of his eye as they left.

****

Dean was pissed when they got home from the bar. Sam could see it in the clench of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, but he didn't say anything to Sam. He just swept into the kitchen and announced he was making dinner. Sam sat at the table and watched him until Dean turned around with a glare.

“Go watch TV or something,” he said. “You're creeping me out, watching me like that.”

Sam really didn't want to let Dean out of his sight, not so soon after what had happened at the bar, but he could tell Dean was close to snapping, so he compromised and went to find a book, sitting down with it at the kitchen table again and trying to only watch Dean when his back was turned.

“Oh, real subtle,” muttered Dean, but he left it at that.

When he served up dinner, Sam put his book to one side and blinked down at the huge plate of food in front of him. It looked like about twice as much as he usually took for himself, and he glanced up at Dean with a puzzled frown.

“You're eating it all,” said Dean bluntly. “Time to get you back on track, starting with your Olsen twin eating habits, and moving on to your massive social dysfunction.” He frowned. “Hey, whatever happened to the Olsen twins anyway?”

Sam shrugged, looking back down at his food and then reluctantly picking up a fork.

****

That night it was Sam's turn to sleep in the bedroom. He grudgingly lay down in there once Dean started making up the couch, making loud comments about how tired he was. It was clearly a bluff, because Sam lay awake listening to Dean still moving around the apartment for a long time before he finally settled down.

He waited for fifteen minutes, eyes open in the dark, then carefully got up and crept back into the main room, to where Dean was sacked out on the sofa. He wasn't moving, and Sam felt the familiar fear creeping up into his throat. He moved slowly, telling himself he was just going to check, just quickly, and then Dean let out a loud sigh and half sat up.

“Dude, seriously,” he said tiredly. “I suppose you're going to pretend you were just looking for a drink of water.”

Sam paused, caught, and then shrugged slightly helplessly.

Dean let out a long sigh and sat up the rest of the way. “You ever think that maybe you'd be less messed up if you got more sleep?”

_Messed up_. Dean thought he was messed up. Sam made a face to himself in the dark, uncomfortably aware that it was probably true, but hearing it in Dean's voice, knowing that Dean thought of him like that hurt more than he'd have expected. He turned to go back to the bedroom, resolving to spend all night lying awake rather than confirm Dean's opinion of him.

“No, wait,” said Dean, standing up. “Come on, Sammy. I'm not an idiot. This isn't working.”

Sam stilled and turned back to frown at him.

Dean sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face. “It's a big bed, right?” he said. “I'm sure we'd both fit, and maybe then you can get a full night's sleep and quit looking like a zombie.”

Sam wanted to shake his head and ridicule the idea but the thought was just too tempting, so when Dean walked into the bedroom, he just followed him. 

Dean collapsed down in the bed, shuffling to one side. “Lie down and sleep,” he commanded. “Or I'll start drugging you every night.”

Sam crawled into bed next to him, feeling like a kid who had to be pandered to and hating it but unwilling to let this opportunity pass. Dean was right – he was messed up.

Dean let out a long breath, and Sam could almost hear him relaxing. “Just don't kick me,” he warned, but Sam could hear from his voice that he was already half asleep. He settled in, matched his breathing to Dean's, and let it pull him down into the first proper night's sleep he'd had in ages.

****

Waking up next to Dean should have felt strange but instead it just felt right, as if all the mornings he'd woken up alone had been the strange ones and having Dean beside him, face softened with sleep and one hand buried under his pillow, seemed the most natural thing in the world. Sam told himself that it was just because he'd finally managed a night of largely uninterrupted sleep – he'd woken a handful of times, but all it had taken for him to drop off again had been the sound of Dean's breathing beside him.

In the morning light everything seemed clearer, including Sam's mind. It felt like all the crushing grief and panic that had been weighing his thoughts down for years was finally starting to lift, letting him breathe again. He ran through the events of last night in his mind, wincing as he realised just how he must have come across to Dean, and to Jack and Benny. His mind went back further, pointing out how he must have appeared to them all over the last few months, years even, and he frowned to himself. Maybe it was time to stop acting like a freak – not speaking was one thing, acting as if normal human behaviour was an alien concept was quite another.

He let out a long breath then filled his lungs, letting his mind fill with resolution at the same time. He was going to pull himself together, stop worrying so much about Dean and start being himself again. Enough was enough.

Dean woke up slowly next to him, shifting in his sleep a couple of times first, moving closer to Sam until his hand brushed against Sam's arm, then his eyes flickered open. Sam glanced away before they focussed on him, trying to hide that he'd been watching Dean sleep, but he didn't think Dean was fooled.

“Morning,” said Dean sleepily, a relaxed half-smile settled on his face. Sam smiled back at him. Dean grunted and sat up, wiping his face. “One day, I'm going to say that and you'll reply,” he said, “and I'll be really freaked out.”

_I really hope so,_ thought Sam, thinking about the ten months of silence he had left, and the day when he'd be done with this whole thing and able to speak again without fear of losing his brother.

Dean looked down at him with a faint frown. “Well, you look better than you did,” he said. “I take it you slept okay?”

Sam nodded and hoped he looked suitably grateful. He knew just how much of a big deal it was for Dean to relax his macho-man rules enough to share a bed with another guy, even if that guy was his totally messed up brother. _Not anymore,_ he reminded himself. He wasn't going to be messed up; he was going to sort himself out so that in ten months they'd be back where they were before Dean died – or, really, before Sam had died, before all the stress of Dean's deal had taken its toll.

“Right,” said Dean, pulling himself out of bed. “Coffee time.”

Sam automatically started to get up to follow him, then stopped himself. Following Dean around like a lost sheep was one of the things he should be changing. Dean was only going to be in the kitchen, he could trust that nothing was going to happen to him in there and get a head start in the bathroom rather than having to sit around waiting for Dean to shower later.

He gestured at the bathroom for Dean's benefit and Dean's eyebrows twitched in surprise, but he didn't comment. “I'll put some on for when you get out,” he said.

Sam nodded, took a deep breath and went into the bathroom, shutting the door with a firm click behind himself. For a moment, the door seemed like an insurmountable barrier, like Dean was in Hell all over again, and he could feel panic welling up in his chest. _No,_ he thought fiercely. _Don't do this._ He forced it all back down, ignoring the way his breathing was coming too fast and trying to concentrate on how close Dean was even if he couldn't see him, and how he had to get used to letting him out of his sight. He forced his hand into a fist and thumped it gently against the wall, trying to pull himself together.

Suddenly, he heard Dean's voice, half-singing, half-humming the lyrics to 'Dazed And Confused' in the kitchen, and all the tension just drained out of him. He took a breath and stepped towards the shower. He could do this.

****

****

It was easier than he thought, once he got himself past the initial panic every time. He started letting Dean out of his sight more, trying to trust that he'd actually be in the next room rather than back in Hell. Being at work was still a trial, but he found it easier to cope as each day passed and Dean turned up on time, grinning at Sam as if he was the best thing he'd seen all day.

“Hey, let's go to the steakhouse tonight,” he said. “I'm craving ribs like crazy.” 

It was a flimsy pretext for getting Sam somewhere where he had to eat more than just a bowl of cereal or some toast, but he smiled back anyway, happy just to see Dean's grin stretch across his face. He might not feel particularly hungry, and eating even half of the food he'd ordered made his stomach hurt, but it was completely worth it to see Dean's pleased glance at his mostly-empty plate.

He was managing to sleep a lot more as well. Dean didn't talk about it, but every night he crawled into the bed next to Sam and muttered a good night that Sam couldn't return before shutting his eyes. Sam would stay awake, watching Dean breathe for a while before letting the peacefulness of his face lull him into sleep.

The better he slept, the better he was able to cope during the day, which made Dean more relaxed as well. Sam overheard him on the phone to Bobby the morning after going to the steakhouse, when Dean thought he was still in the bathroom.

“He's totally getting better,” he said. “Last night, we went to a steakhouse and he didn't freak out at all, not even when I went to the bathroom.” Sam had been clenching his fists so tightly by the time Dean got back that he still had nail marks in his palms, but apparently Dean hadn't noticed that. “And, man, the steak was freaking awesome. They put this amazing sauce on it, that was, I swear-” He paused, clearly cut off by something Bobby was saying.

“No, nothing yet. Only a matter of time though, right? He's already so much better than he was, after all. He'll be speaking again soon, I bet you.”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes to himself. Trust Dean to think he could fix everything, even the things that he really had no control over.

“Well, I am awesome,” said Dean with smirk down the phone. “I gotta go, Bobby, he'll be out soon. I'll call you later.” He hung up and went back to making pancakes, whistling quietly to himself. 

Sam took a deep breath and shoved down his annoyance that Bobby and Dean were clearly regularly consulting about him. What else had he been expecting, really? It's not like he hadn't had similar conversations with Bobby about Dean after their Dad had died. He told himself firmly that it just meant they cared about him and went in to have breakfast.

****

Two weeks later, Bobby came down for lunch and made no secret of the fact that he was mainly there to check up on Sam. He looked him up and down when he arrived and said, “You're looking much better,” with approval.

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Don't look like that at me, boy,” said Bobby. “You were looking worse than a strung-out rockstar for a while there.” Well, that was flattering.

Dean patted Sam's stomach with the back of his hand, grinning. “It's amazing what a few good meals will do,” he said proudly. Sam shook his head in resignation and headed out the door for the diner. If they were just going to talk about him like he was a kid who'd suddenly gotten tall, he'd just leave them to it and get a start on lunch.

They followed him out of the building, chatting about this and that, and eventually Sam slowed down to walk with them, listening. These days his conversations consisted of nodding or shaking his head, with the occasional eye-roll if it was Dean he was talking to, while the other person essentially monologued at him, and it was good to hear an actual back-and forth conversation for once. He could tell Dean was enjoying it too, even when Bobby interjected with sarcastic comments during his anecdotes – comments Sam often wanted to add when Dean was talking to him, but had to hold his tongue instead.

They settled in the diner and Jenny served them, smiling at Dean with the look that said she was his for the taking if he just pulled out a few of his lines. Dean grinned at her as he ordered but left it at that, clearly enjoying the chance to have a two-way conversation too much to do more. Sam gave her a smile instead and she shrugged her shoulders slightly at him, as if to say _what can you do?_

Bobby hung around for a while after lunch, crouching over the Impala's hood with Dean and discussing some aspect of her upkeep while Sam sat on a wall and watched them. It felt a little like he was on the outside – just a spectator in someone else's life, but he didn't really mind. Better a spectator in Dean's life than the protagonist in his own, especially if his had kept going the way it had while Dean was in Hell.

After Bobby left, Dean kept working on the car, so Sam went inside to find a book, then settled on the wall again, one eye on Dean as he tinkered with the Impala, the other concentrating on the book. The sun was warm on his back and he could hear Dean muttering to himself, interspersed with humming. It was pretty much a perfect day.

****

It all changed the very next morning. Sam slept later than usual and woke up to find Dean already up and gone from the room. He got out of bed fast, feeling the inevitable panic rise up. He could hear movement, cups chinking in the kitchen, so he headed straight there, not breathing until he saw Dean making coffee.

Dean glanced up. “Hey there, sleepy,” he said. “Ready for breakfast?”

Sam nodded and sat down, letting Dean chatter all about the things he'd done to the car yesterday while they ate and trying not to let it show just how freaked out he had been to wake up alone. He went for his shower after – Dean had showered while Sam had still been sleeping, and how had Sam slept through that? Surely Dean being gone that long should have pinged his internal radar and woken him up? What if something happened to him in the night, and Sam just slept straight through it, without even knowing? He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was meant to be acting like a normal person. Normal people didn't assume that something bad had happened just because their brothers had decided to have an early morning.

When he got out of the bathroom, the apartment was silent. It felt like his heart had stopped when he realised that it was also empty – he went from room to room frantically, even checking the closet, before spotting the note on the bed.

_Gone for a drive to check out the calibration of the engine. Back very soon._

_Don't freak out – seriously, I'll be quick._

Sam pelted downstairs, not even stopping to pull on more than the sweatpants he'd worn out of the bathroom, but the Impala was already gone. He stood in the parking lot staring at the empty space for what felt like ages. He could hear a whooshing sound in his ears and somehow the world seemed to be expanding before his eyes – the walls of the parking lot rushing away from him as he stood there, everything spreading out until Dean was even further from him. What if something happened, how was Sam meant to protect him if he was so far away?

He could hear his own breathing, harsh and frantic and burning his throat as he tried to fill his lungs, but his ribs were the only thing in the world not expanding; they were shrinking, trapping the air in his chest and tightening around his heart so that he could feel the wild beat of it pounding through him.

He sank to his knees, unable to hold himself up, and he could feel grit biting into his skin through his thin sweatpants. Dean was gone. The thought crowded everything else out of his mind, horror clenching his stomach. How could he lose Dean again? How could Dean keep leaving without him? The edges of his vision went black, narrowing his world until all he could see was the empty parking space where the Impala should be, the only vivid thing in a colourless world.

He could barely breathe at all, and he dimly wondered if he was dying. It hardly seemed to matter if he was or not – if Dean was gone, what was the purpose of his life? He shut his eyes and dug his fingers into the ground, feeling his nails ripping as he tried to grab at the world, hoping to find an anchor against this feeling.

He had no idea how long he stayed there – it felt like an eternity, an eternity without Dean after he'd already endured four years. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but kneel there and struggle against the metal bands around his chest, the thudding of his heart, the sick desperation flooding through him.

Somewhere far, far away in the distance he could hear a car engine, but he couldn't focus on it enough to even wonder if maybe he shouldn't be kneeling in just his sweatpants in the middle of the building's parking lot. A door slammed and then, like a pure shot of relief, Sam could hear Dean's voice, calling his name. He forced his eyes open again and there was the Impala and Dean, alive and whole and perfect.

“Sam? Sammy? What the hell?”

Sam just looked at him, trying to take all of him in and make sure he wasn't hurt in any way. Dean crouched down in front of him and grabbed his shoulders and Sam suddenly realised just how little air was making it into his lungs. He blinked, trying to calm his breathing down, but he didn't seem to have any control over it.

“Sam, you have to breathe,” said Dean, sounding almost as panicked as Sam felt. “Come on, Sammy, I need you to do this for me. Just breathe.”

Sam nodded and concentrated hard on his voice. He could do that. He could do anything Dean wanted from him, just as long as he didn't go away again.

“Okay, man,” said Dean, clearly trying to sound reassuring but unable to hide the edge of fear in his voice. “Breathe in, two, three, and out, two, three. Do it with me, come on.”

Sam followed his count and gradually his breathing started to slow down, the bands around his chest loosening until he could control his lungs again.

“God, man,” said Dean after watching him breathe for a while. “What the hell?”

Sam shook his head. He had no idea, he just knew that he couldn't cope with Dean going away from him again any time soon. Dean was still holding his shoulders and Sam reached out for him, gripping his biceps tightly. His heart was still pounding but he could feel it slowing down as his breathing calmed and his brain started to be able to think properly. He was suddenly acutely aware of his bare feet, studded with gravel, and his shirtlessness in the cool morning air.

“We need to get you inside,” said Dean. “You're freezing.”

Sam nodded numbly. Now that his freak-out was over he was beginning to realise what it meant, just how truly messed up he was. And Dean had seen it all.

Dean pulled him up, sliding his shoulder under Sam's arm to steady him, and half-carried him up to their apartment, ignoring Sam's attempts to take his own weight despite the fact that his legs still felt like jelly. Once inside, Dean helped him to the sofa and Sam sank onto it gratefully, feeling wrung out. Dean stood watching him for a moment, a frown creasing his face.

“Jesus, Sam,” he said softly, and Sam flushed, looking away. Dean sank to his knees in front of him, putting his hands on Sam's legs to get his attention back. “I'm sorry,” he said, which was not at all what Sam had expected. “I shouldn't have left – I should have known you wouldn't be okay. Just, you've been getting so much better lately, and I thought...” He stopped without finishing the sentence.

Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to demonstrate that it was nothing to do with Dean, that this whole thing was all Sam's fault for letting his brain get so scrambled while Dean had been in Hell. The warmth of Dean's skin under his shirt was reassuring and Sam couldn't help holding on too tightly.

“This is all my fault,” said Dean miserably. “I'm sorry, Sammy. I thought you'd be okay without me, I didn't realise it would be this bad.” He looked down, and Sam could see him swallowing. “Christ, if I never have to see you like that again...” He glanced up suddenly. “It hasn't happened before, has it?”

Sam shook his head, and Dean let out a relieved breath. “Good,” he said, but he still sounded freaked out. Sam sat forward, wishing there was some way he could tell Dean that it was okay, that he didn't have to worry.

“I'm not an idiot, you know,” Dean said abruptly. “This not-speaking thing – it's got to be to do with me and Hell somehow, even if I don't know exactly how.” Sam tensed and Dean put a hand on his chest. “Relax,” he said. “I'm not going to go looking for answers, I just... god, Sammy, I'm so sorry.”

Sam squeezed his shoulder, trying to convey with his eyes that it didn't matter, that nothing mattered as long as Dean was alive and with him.

“Sam,” said Dean, as if there was so much more he wanted to say but he only had that one word to communicate with, then he suddenly pushed up on his knees and kissed Sam, taking control of his mouth as if he could fix Sam with just his tongue and lips.

Sam didn't know how to react at all, and found himself kissing back without thinking about it, only able to concentrate on how Dean was right there, just about as close as he could be. The last vestiges of panic flowed away and Sam felt himself starting to truly relax. Dean was here, and safe, and alive.

Dean pulled back with a start, making a choked noise in his throat. He stared at Sam with shock, as if he'd been the one surprised by the kiss. 

Sam was so turned around by the kiss that he actually opened his mouth to say his brother's name, and then had to bite hard at his lip to stop himself from speaking. He sat still, wide-eyed for a moment at how close he'd come to letting everything fall apart over one unthinking word. 

Dean's face froze into panic. “God, Sam,” he said hoarsely, “I'm...I shouldn't have...”

Sam forced himself back into the moment – he had to stop Dean from freaking out just as everything felt like it had clicked into place. He wondered for a split second how to explain that it was perfectly okay, then realised that he didn't want to waste time with attempting explanations using hand gestures – he just wanted Dean's lips on his, reassuring him. He knotted his fist in the collar of Dean's shirt and pulled him in again, taking Dean off guard for a second before he caught up, pushing Sam back against the couch and kissing him as if their lives depended on it.

Sam slid his hands down Dean's back, pulling him close, letting himself feel every part of Dean like he'd been wanting to since Dean had come back to him. He was solid and warm under Sam's touch, indisputably _there_ , and Sam couldn't get enough of touching him. He pulled insistently at the edge of Dean's shirt, breaking their mouths apart for the briefest amount of time in order to pull it off.

“Whoa,” said Dean breathlessly before Sam could lay claim to his mouth again. “Hang on, Sam, maybe we should slow-”

Sam ignored him, kissing the rest of the sentence away until Dean had forgotten he was saying anything. He turned them, pushing Dean around until he had him where he wanted, sprawled against the arm of the sofa, and then set about exploring his chest with his fingers and mouth. He had to know it all, had to have everything he could, in case Dean disappeared again and all he was left with were memories.

“Fuck, Sam,” gasped Dean. “I didn't know.” Sam ran a hard tongue over his nipple, then bit at it, and Dean lost his train of thought and devolved into panting swear words. Sam felt a surge of satisfaction at being able to make him like this, writhing and desperate for Sam's touch. He reached Dean's waistband and didn't even hesitate, pulling his jeans open with a hard tug while Dean cursed above him and forced out his name.

“Shit, Sammy, what...?”

Dean's cock was already hard, thick and beautiful. Sam paused to look at it for a moment, the first moment he'd taken since he'd kissed Dean.

“You don't have to,” said Dean in a breathless voice, and Sam glared at him. Of course he didn't _have_ to – he wanted to. He really, really wanted to. He tasted the end of it, licking the edge of his tongue over the slit and Dean sucked in a breath, then let his head fall back against the couch, clearly giving up on protests. 

Sam felt a surge of satisfaction and took hold of Dean's hips, pushing his jeans down just enough to give himself space. He engulfed Dean's cock, sucking down as much as he could and Dean bucked up at the feeling, letting out a choked shout. The movement pushed his cock deeper into Sam's mouth, hitting the back of his throat, and Sam felt his own cock twitch. This was what he wanted – to feel Dean everywhere, taking over his senses, and he changed his grip on Dean's hips, pulling him up instead of holding him down.

Dean groaned, swearing again, and Sam worked harder at his cock, trying to make him lose control completely and take everything he wanted from Sam's mouth. It wasn't working though – Dean kept his hips down after the initial thrust, clearly restraining himself, while his hands clenched so hard at the sofa that Sam was worried that it was going to tear. Sam grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away and guiding them to his hair instead, hoping that was enough of a hint. Dean clenched his fingers through it, tugging hard enough to hurt, which just made Sam even more desperate to feel Dean's cock bruising his throat.

Dean breathed, “Sammy,” in a shattered-sounding voice and pushed his hips up carefully, obviously testing his way. Sam let out a groan, hoping Dean would understand what that meant, and then Dean took over, pumping his cock in and out of Sam's mouth until Sam could barely breathe around it, using Sam exactly how he had wanted, letting him feel just how real and alive he was.

Dean came with a grunt of Sam's name, hands still buried in Sam's hair as his come filled Sam's mouth, making him choke and finally pull away. It was perfect.

“Fuck, Sam,” said Dean in a dazed voice, his grip on Sam's hair loosening until his fingers were stroking through it rather than clinging on.

One of his hands moved to stroke a thumb over Sam's lower lip, where Sam could feel come dripping down, then he sat up and followed the movement with his tongue before kissing Sam deeply, searching for the taste of himself. Sam moaned into it, unable to help himself, then reached down to pull his own cock free of his sweatpants. He was achingly hard and the grip of his fist around himself made him moan again, one arm pulling Dean close while the other pulled hard at his cock, fast and frantic, desperation pulsing through his veins.

Dean's hand joined his a moment later and they jerked him off together, hands moving in rhythm while Sam gasped into Dean's mouth, too lost to kiss him properly. He felt words start to well up in him as his orgasm got close, and he pulled away so that he could bury his teeth in Dean's shoulder to hold them back, eyes screwed tightly shut as he came over their hands.

They collapsed onto the sofa, Sam sprawled out over Dean's chest with Dean's arm slung around him. There was a silence for a while, and Sam tried to work out why they hadn't done this earlier – he finally had Dean exactly where he wanted him, so close that there could be no mistake about his presence.

Dean let out a tired half-laugh. “And the weirdest thing is,” he said, as if continuing a thought he'd had, “for a moment there, I thought you were actually going to say something. Why does that strike me as weirder than the rest of it?”

Sam shrugged, feeling himself tense at the reminder. Twice he'd nearly spoken, nearly let Dean's name pass his lips. If he had, he'd be lying alone on this sofa while Dean was back in Hell, his vow broken and nothing to show for over four years of silence. He shuddered at the thought, and Dean's arm tightened around him.

“You cold?” he asked. “You were outside in practically nothing for quite a while – maybe you should have a hot shower or something.”

Last time Sam had had a shower, Dean had been gone when he came back. On the other hand, this time he could take Dean with him. He sat up and grinned at Dean, then took his hand and tugged it, hoping his meaning was obvious.

Dean laughed and sat up as well. “I'm not sure we're both going to fit,” he said. “But I'm definitely willing to try it. You know, for science.”

Sam laughed with him and pulled himself off the sofa, dragging Dean behind him.

****

They spent most of the rest of the day in bed, only pulling clothes on to greet the pizza boy. Sam mapped every inch of Dean's skin, checking over all the places where there should have been scars but where there was just smooth skin instead. _Because of me,_ he thought with pride, surprising himself. He was so caught up on keeping Dean safe that sometimes he forget that it was because of him that Dean was alive again at all. He thought of how he had looked after the hellhounds had finished with him, ripped apart and covered in blood, and shivered.

“Sam,” said Dean softly, his hand smoothing over Sam's shoulder, and Sam gently bit down at the flesh under his mouth. This was no place for thoughts like that, not when he had Dean spread out and eager for his touch.

That night when they went to sleep, Sam put his arm around Dean and felt him breathing as they drifted off. He was just about asleep when Dean spoke.

“Hey, Sammy?” he asked hesitantly. Sam tapped his finger against Dean's chest to show he was awake and listening. “This is okay, right? You're not just doing this because you were freaked out, or just because I want it, or some shit like that?”

Sam pulled himself up on to his elbow with an effort, and kissed Dean as an answer, trying to put everything he couldn't say into it. _Hell yes I want it, I want you, you're everything._ Dean relaxed into it and they lazily made out for a while before Sam pulled away and settled down on the bed again.

“Awesome,” said Dean sleepily, and Sam smiled to himself, letting his eyes shut again.

****

Leaving Dean to go to work was even harder that Monday, knowing that he could be at home in bed, continuing what they'd started when Dean had kissed him awake. As Sam watched Dean drive off, he could feel his skin crawl as if ants were burrowing under it and he itched with the need to be back close to him.

“You okay, Sam?” Jack asked, and Sam finally turned away from the road; long after the Impala had disappeared around the corner. He nodded. “Then come help me get the compost out of the truck. I want to get as much done as possible before Mrs. Turner comes home and starts changing her mind again.”

Sam nodded again, pulling himself together. This was routine – he went to work, just like he had for the last four years, and Dean did...whatever. Sam chose to believe he stayed safe in their apartment, like he had before he'd come back properly, staying exactly where Sam left him. He knew it wasn't the slightest bit true, but it made it much easier to get through the day without him.

Sam felt like he was getting both better and worse over the next week. He could barely stand to let Dean out of his sight after his freak-out in the parking lot, but now that he could just grab him and kiss him to keep him close, it was much easier to hide it. He slept even better than he had been, not even waking up at night now that Dean's chest was right under his hand, moving slowly up and down with each breath. He was eating more as well – probably because he was burning more calories with all the sex – and Dean stopped watching every bite he took like a hawk.

Dean came over every lunchtime, mainly so that they could find some secluded spot and blow each other in the Impala, but Sam really wasn't going to complain. Over the week he got much better at keeping control of his instinct to speak when he came, mainly by making sure to have something in his mouth every time – either his arm, or some part of Dean, who inspected the bitemarks afterwards but never said anything.

Dean turned up early on Friday afternoon to pick Sam up. He gave Jack his most charming smile, and said, “You can let Sam go early, right? C'mon, it's Friday, and he could use a beer.”

Jack hesitated, glancing at Sam, then back at Dean's face. He sighed. “Okay, sure,” he said. “I guess you've earned it.”

Sam grinned at him at the same time as Dean. “You're awesome,” Dean said happily.

“In return,” said Jack before they could leave, “there's something you can do for me.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I draw the line at cross-dressing.” 

Jack ignored him. “I'm having some guys around for the game next Sunday – family, friends and so on. Benny's coming,” he said, nodding at where Benny was scowling faintly at Sam getting to go early while he had to stay. “It'd be great if you could persuade Sam to come too, and yourself of course.”

Sam froze. Dean looked at him questioningly and he didn't know what to do. All those people, people he didn't know, any of whom could be demons, or monsters, or something worse.

“What do you think, Sammy?” asked Dean. “Couple of beers and some sports... could be good.”

Sam stared. It was clear Dean wanted to go – probably more because he thought it would be 'good' for Sam to have some social interaction than that he actually wanted to sit around with a bunch of civilians, having to make up shit about their past just to get through the most banal small talk. Could he do it? He was meant to be getting better, after all, pulling himself out of the state of mind that had him automatically shying away from spending time with people.

Dean was still looking at him but his expression had changed just enough for Sam to be able to see how important this was to him, how much he wanted Sam to be able to do this. Sam took a deep breath and nodded, and the smile that broke out over Dean's face was worth it. He could totally do this if it was going to make Dean look like that.

Jack looked almost as pleased as Dean did. He patted Sam's shoulder with a grin and said, “Great. I'll see you there then.”

Sam smiled back, trying to ignore the queasy feeling that was already starting to build up in his stomach. It was just a couple of hours watching the game, after all. What could possibly go wrong?

****

Sam had thought they'd spend most of that weekend in bed, but instead Dean announced that they were driving up to stay with Bobby. Sam wanted to tell Dean his own plan for the weekend, which involved practising that thing with his tongue until Dean forgot his own name and then working out the best way to reduce him to a needy, begging mess so that Sam could keep him as close as he could for as long as possible without coming across as weird or fucked-up. Well, no more fucked-up than the incest thing made him, but at least he had company in that.

It was almost impossible to argue with Dean when he couldn't speak though, even if he did manage to delay their departure by slipping into the shower with Dean and fucking him against the white tiled wall. Dean resolutely got dressed after that, then packed up their stuff and put it in the trunk of the Impala. Sam watched him, knowing he looked like a sulky teenager who didn't want to go on a family holiday and not caring. He'd wanted to have lots of sex, damnit, and at Bobby's they'd have to pretend to be the normal kind of brothers.

Dean got in the car and sat there, looking at Sam expectantly through his open window. Sam crossed his arms and didn't move.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Guess I'll just go without you then,” he said, and started the engine.

Sam's heart leaped into his mouth. Dean wouldn't really go without him, would he? 

Ten seconds later he was in the passenger seat of the car. Dean grinned with satisfaction and Sam scowled in response.

“Cheer up, Sammy,” said Dean brightly as he pulled out of the parking lot. “If you're not too much of a sulky bitch, I'll pull over somewhere and blow you before we get there.”

Sam felt his scowl lighten and was annoyed with himself. He shouldn't let himself be won over that easily with the promise of sex – it'd set a bad precedent. He turned and stared resolutely out of the window, but was unable to deny to himself that the idea of Dean's mouth on his cock went a long way to make him feel better about this impromptu trip.

****

Dean did blow him on the way up – twice – and by the time they arrived Sam was in a much better mood. Bobby was clearly expecting them and came out of his workshop rubbing his hands on a rag.

“Hey, boys,” he greeted them. “Good trip up?”

Dean's face lit up. “It was awesome,” he said with satisfaction. Sam rolled his eyes but couldn't completely suppress a smile.

They spent most of the weekend just chilling out. Dean tooled around with a few of Bobby's cars and Sam watched him, admiring the stretch of his back as he bent over an engine, and wishing that he could appreciate it in a different context.

Just as he was getting bored, Bobby came out with a pile of books. “Hey, Sam,” he said. “wonder if you could do me a favour. Stan Baker called, he and Cliff are hunting something they need research on, some kind of Japanese demon or demigod or something. Can you look through these for me?”

Sam looked at the books for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. Figured that he'd end up doing research – Bobby had always taken the view that if they were staying with him, he was damn well going to take advantage of them.

Bobby told him what he was looking for, patted his shoulder and disappeared again, leaving Sam with the stack of books, wishing he was able to write down notes and glancing up every so often to watch Dean. It felt good to be doing something hunting-related again, to be helping in the fight against evil, and when he found a detailed description of a nukekubi that fitted with what Stan and Cliff were facing, he felt a surge of satisfaction.

He glanced at Dean to make sure he was still engrossed in the engine and took a deep breath. Dean would be fine for five minutes, he could take the book and show Bobby quickly without worrying about him. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that he was meant to be getting over this, and went to find Bobby. The first time the back door shut behind him, panic welled up in him and he had to turn back, open it again just to make sure Dean was still okay. He was still there, squinting down at some engine part in his hand, and Sam clenched his jaw, then resolutely shut the door again.

Bobby was in his study, poring over an old-looking book. He looked up as Sam entered, and for a moment surprise bloomed on his face before he managed to cover it. “You got something?”

Sam nodded, trying to calm the nervous energy running through his veins. He should be with Dean. He handed the book to Bobby, pointing to the page. Bobby ran his eyes over it quickly.

“Yeah, that sounds like it. I'll call Stan back.”

Sam managed a smile, then turned to go back to Dean. Bobby's voice stopped him in the doorway. “Thanks, son.” There was a serious look in his eyes, and Sam wondered if he was thanking him for more than just the information. Sam nodded awkwardly in reply, then slipped off, back to Dean.

When he got outside, Dean was still standing by the engine but he wasn't working on it anymore. Instead, he was looking at where Sam had been sitting and when Sam came out, he looked up at him with a wide, proud smile that Sam couldn't help returning.

Dean was in an infectiously good mood all weekend after that, so that by the time they drove back on Sunday, Sam was itching with the need to touch him. The first thing he did when they got inside their apartment was to kiss the smile off Dean's face, pushing him back against the front door and pressing himself close to Dean's body.

Dean pulled away, grinning. “Just what I was thinking,” he said. “Come on, let's at least make it as far as the bed.”

Sam wasn't really interested in having to move right now though, and he pushed Dean's shoulders back against the door and kissed him again, making his intentions clear. Why bother moving when there was a perfectly good surface right here for him to fuck Dean against?

“Or we could just stay here,” said Dean breathlessly when Sam pulled back from his lips again, gripping Sam by the hips and pulling him tightly against his body. Sam smirked at him.

****

****

The next morning Sam felt a lot more relaxed while watching Dean drive off – he even managed a smile when Jack asked him how he was feeling. He couldn't decide if that was the effect of the relaxed weekend at Bobby's, or the three orgasms that he'd had since they'd gotten back, but either way it was definitely because of Dean.

“You still up for coming on Sunday?” Jack asked him just before lunch, and Sam nodded firmly. Dean was right, he had to expose himself to this stuff so that he could conquer it. He wasn't going to let it beat him, not after he'd conquered both death and Hell for Dean's sake.

He felt distinctly less sure of himself on Sunday morning, lying awake while Dean was still asleep. What if Dean pissed someone off, something he did astonishingly easily, and got himself in a fight? What if the demons knew they were here and were just waiting to get them somewhere with enough hosts to possess? What if nothing happened but he freaked out anyway, had another breakdown and ended up suffocating or having a heart attack? Or just making Dean realise how pathetic and weak he was at the moment, so that he left in disgust?

He knew he was being ridiculous – if demons were going to attack, they'd do it regardless of where he and Dean were, and if Dean was going to leave, he'd have done it by now - but he couldn't stop himself from lying there, picturing in vivid detail all the ways that this could go horribly wrong, almost all of them ending with Dean either driving away for good or dying, leaving Sam with nothing again.

“Man, I can hear you angsting in my sleep,” grumbled Dean in a tired voice and Sam blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

He turned over, trying to look apologetic. Dean was watching him through half-open eyes but when Sam met his eyes, he smirked as if sleep was the furthest thing from his mind and rolled over until he was hovering above Sam.

“I think I've got a way to make you relax,” he said. Sam grinned back and pulled him down into a kiss, shoving all his dark thoughts completely away. Why waste time with them when he could be doing this?

They kissed lazily, neither of them in a hurry, and Sam pulled Dean down close against him, relishing the feel of his warm skin pressed against him. Dean made a happy sound and slid a hand into Sam's hair, knotting his fingers into it so that he could pull his head back slightly, changing the angle of the kiss and deepening it.

Sam ran his hands down Dean's back to the curve of his hips, pulling his ass down and pushing up with his own hips at the same time. He could feel Dean's cock rubbing against his, already hard, and he couldn't stop himself from groaning into Dean's mouth.

“Sammy,” muttered Dean, moving against him. Over the last couple of weeks, Sam had discovered that Dean found it impossible not to talk during sex, a constant stream of babble coming out of his mouth. It made Sam ridiculously hot to hear him and, for the first time, glad that he couldn't speak so that he would never drown out a single syllable of Dean's with his own voice.

“Come on, Sam,” muttered Dean, kissing Sam again until they were both breathless, and pushing down against his cock in a slow rhythm. “Just like that.”

Usually this was where they'd switch positions so that Sam was on top, where he could run his mouth over Dean's chest and bite at his collarbone, distract him with his mouth while his hands wandered lower, doing everything he could to prove to himself that Dean was actually there, but Sam wasn't in the mood for that today. He pushed up against Dean again, spreading his legs further in what he hoped was an obvious invitation. They hadn't done it this way around yet, falling instead into a pattern that felt natural and easy to both of them, but right now he wanted to feel possessed by Dean, to have tangible evidence that Dean wanted this as much as he did and that he wasn't going to run off if Sam was too weird at Jack's.

Dean paused for a moment, obviously surprised, then took what Sam was offering, kissing him again while his hands stroked down Sam's sides.

“Sammy,” he said again, then ducked his head to Sam's neck, sucking at a point just above Sam's shoulder that made him gasp and bite at his bottom lip to keep himself quiet. _Don't speak,_ he reminded himself.

It felt harder to remember like this, with Dean working his fingers into him, sucking red marks down his chest and neck as he did so and telling Sam in a hushed, breathless voice how hot he was, how tight he felt, how much Dean wanted him. When Dean pushed three of his fingers inside him, Sam had to resort to biting down hard on his arm, choking off anything that might have slipped past his guard. He wondered if he should maybe stop this, push Dean away so that he could regain his composure and not risk everything on a moment of weakness, but Dean's fingers felt just right, moving inside Sam as if Dean knew all there was to know about him, exactly how to touch him to pull him apart, and Sam lacked the willpower to push that away.

“Sammy,” Dean murmured into his skin. “God, Sammy, you're so... can I, say you're ready, please.”

Sam gave up all thought of stopping this. He nodded jerkily, pulling his legs up further to signal just how ready he was. Dean pulled away to fumble with the lube, slicking himself up, and Sam took a deep breath then bit down so hard on his arm as Dean sank inside him that for a moment the sharp stinging pain in his arm was all he could feel.

“Jesus, Sam,” said Dean in a ragged voice, gazing down at him with dark eyes. “You're...”

Sam never got to find out what he was, because he pushed back against Dean, arching his back so that Dean's cock was forced even deeper inside him, so deep that Sam could barely take it. Dean broke off with a groan, and then pulled back to start thrusting, fucking Sam with long, slow rolls of his hips until Sam had lost track of everything else, everything except the burning importance of not speaking.

The rhythm built between them, driving both of them higher until Dean was just forcing out swear words and Sam could taste blood under his teeth. He pushed his other arm between their bodies, taking a firm hold of his cock and pulled at it roughly, as much in time with Dean's thrusts as he could. He came after only a handful of pulls, his whole body shaking with the effort of it and a wordless grunt forcing its way out of his mouth into his arm.

Dean followed him a moment later, Sam's name on his lips, then collapsed sideways onto the bed next to him. Sam lay still for a long moment, then raised his arm to inspect the damage. Dean took it from him before he could see more than the vivid red ring of bitemarks and the faintest trace of blood smeared around them.

Dean looked at it for a few minutes in silence, then sighed. “If you're going to keep doing that,” he said, “maybe we should just get you a gag. Otherwise you're going to end up looking like the victim of a zombie attack.”

Sam pulled his arm away with a scowl. He gestured at the red marks that Dean had peppered his chest and neck with and raised an eyebrow.

“You loved it, bitch,” Dean said, sitting up and apparently abandoning the conversation. “I'm going to shower. Coming?”

Sam nodded and got up, but before he could go into the bathroom, Dean caught his shoulder.

“Hey, it's going to be fine today,” he said in his 'I'm uncomfortable talking about this, but I think it needs to be said' voice. “And if you want to leave at any point, you just tell...you just let me know, and we'll go, okay?”

Sam nodded, and Dean gave him a smile that Sam couldn't help returning.

****

Jack's house was more crowded than Sam had thought it would be. Jack waved them in, took the six-pack that Dean offered him, and led them into the sitting room. He must have invited almost every man he knew – the room was packed with guys sitting anywhere they could, holding beers and talking loudly. Sam felt himself tense up even more and hated himself for being pathetic, then Dean's hand was on his back, out-of-sight, and Sam could relax a bit.

“This is Sam and Dean,” said Jack blithely. “These are the guys.” That was all the introduction they got before he headed into the kitchen with the beer.

Dean twitched an eyebrow at Sam and then glanced around the room, looking for somewhere to sit. The most obvious spot was next to Benny but to Sam's secret amusement, Dean bypassed it entirely in favour of sitting on the floor, leaning back against a wall. Sam slumped down next to him, relishing the excuse to crush close against his side.

“Hey,” said Dean to the guy nearest to them. “How you doing?”

“I'm good,” he replied. “You work for Jack, am I right?”

“Sam does,” said Dean. “I'm just here for the beer.”

“Sam,” repeated the man thoughtfully. “The one who doesn't speak, right?”

Sam felt Dean stiffen slightly, clearly ready to get defensive, but the man just held his hand out. “I'm Brian. I'm on the soccer team with Jack – he said you used to play?”

Sam shook his hand and nodded reluctantly.

Brian's face lit up. “You should come down some time – we don't take it too seriously, and we have a blast.”

Sam gave a half-shrug and an apologetic shake of his head.

“Ah, come on, Sammy,” said Dean cajolingly. “You know how you rocked the shorts.”

Sam glared at him and shook his head more firmly. He wasn't going to waste his weekends running around after a ball when he could be with Dean.

“If you do, I'll come with,” offered Dean and Sam couldn't stop himself; he laughed.

Hearing himself make such a loud noise made him start, and he could see from Dean's face that it had surprised him too.

“Guess that's a no then,” said Brian good-naturedly. “Ah, well, he can't say I didn't try.”

Jack came in carrying two massive bowls of nachos and there was a ragged cheer. “Game starts in five minutes,” he announced. “Get your beers and your seats now, guys.”

Dean glanced at Sam. “Beer?” he offered.

Sam hesitated. He should nod – even if he ignored the standard response of a normal guy in this situation, he could do with a beer to help calm his nerves – but if he did, Dean was going to head off to the kitchen to get it, and he wasn't sure he could handle that. There were too many people, all too loud, and it was beginning to wear his defences down. He just needed to sit for a bit with Dean beside him and get his head together right, then he'd be able to cope with Dean being in another room.

Dean noticed his hesitation and gave his knee a quick pat. “Maybe in a bit, then,” he said.

The game started and the room quietened a little, conversations dying down and being replaced by commentary on the players. Sam began to feel better, pulling himself together enough to actually follow the action and make the occasional appropriate noise.

Dean stayed close next to him, one hand brushing his leg as if by accident now and then, and Sam let the reassurance of his presence ground him. He was just a guy watching the game with a bunch of other guys – maybe he and Dean hadn't really ever done this before, but that didn't mean it was worth freaking out about. People did this all the time.

By half-time he'd calmed down enough to let Dean go to the bathroom and get them a couple of beers, although, when Dean took longer than he'd counted on, his breathing began to get out of his control and he had to start counting it in and out until Dean reappeared.

It was in the second half that it all got too much. The game had been close before, but in the second half it got even closer and there were a few edge-of-your-seat moments, intermixed with some really bad ball-fumbling. The room got louder and louder, guys yelling abuse at the screen as if it would make the players sort themselves out. Sam found himself flinching every time the volume went up a notch.

Dean didn't notice for a while, as caught up in the game as the rest of the room, and Sam found himself shaking slightly. It felt as if the walls were closing in, as if the noise was filling up the inside of his head until there was nothing left. He remembered how he'd felt in the parking lot, as if he was going to die, and he started to worry that it was going to happen again, in front of Dean and all the others.

On-screen one of the players was tackled badly and the whole room gave voice to their outrage. Sam twitched, the noise pressing down on his skull, and pulled himself closer in. He couldn't breathe properly, bands starting to tighten around his chest, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing at Dean's leg.

It was enough to attract Dean's attention and he immediately looked away from the game. “Sammy? You okay?” he asked urgently.

Sam only managed a panicked look and a half headshake in reply. 

Dean immediately grabbed his shoulders. “Come on, man,” he said intently. “Breathe for me. It's okay, nothing's going to hurt you.”

Sam shook his head again. He knew that, but somehow he still couldn't pull himself together. He could feel himself hyperventilating and his body shaking, and then there was another loud roar at something in the game and he let out a gasp, grabbing at Dean's arms with white-knuckled hands.

Dean glanced around them briefly, then said in a commanding voice, “Get up. We're going to the car.”

Sam nodded and Dean hauled him upright then dragged him across the room, weaving around people and stepping over them without any apologies.

“Hey, he okay?” asked Jack, glancing away from the screen.

“Fine,” said Dean grimly. “We're just popping out for a bit.”

He bundled Sam out of the house and into the Impala as easily as if he were still a small child, then got in after him and gripped his shoulders again. 

“Come on, Sammy, calm down,” he said. “It's okay, I'm here. Just keep breathing.”

Sam nodded and locked his eyes on Dean's face, concentrating hard on breathing in and out normally. There was no reason for this, it was ridiculous, and he needed to get himself together. The silence in the car, filled with nothing but Dean's reassuring voice and the familiar smell of leather seats and old plastic calmed his mind, pushing aside the panic that had been taking him over, and he felt himself beginning to relax a little.

Dean let out a long sigh as Sam got his breathing back under control. “Jesus, Sammy,” he said in a hushed voice. He took Sam's face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along Sam's cheekbones, then pulled their foreheads together. 

“You're okay,” he said. “We're both okay.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“You want to go home?” Dean asked, and Sam really, really wanted to nod again. He thought about having to go back into that room with all the noise and bodies, and then he thought about going home to the quiet of their apartment. It wasn't that simple though – if he ran away now, he'd be giving in to this. He had to prove to himself, and to Dean, that he could cope or they'd both be walking on eggshells from now on, just waiting for this to happen again.

He shook his head stiffly. He was a Winchester, damn it, and he wasn't going to just pussy out.

Dean looked surprised, but he gave Sam a grin and Sam knew he'd made the right choice. “Okay, we'll give it another five minutes, then go back,” he said.

Sam nodded again, then put a hand around the back of Dean's head, pulling his lips closer so that he could kiss him. If they had five minutes, he was going to make full use of it.

****

Jack looked up with surprise when they came back in. “Hey,” he said. “How're you feeling?”

Sam shrugged and held up a hand to gesture 'so-so'.

Jack nodded. “Hey, guys,” he yelled over the buzz of the room. “Take it down a couple of decibels, would you? Some of us like to hear ourselves think.”

The room quietened a little.

“Thanks, man,” said Dean.

Jack shrugged. “Game'll be over soon,” he said. “Then they should all calm down a bit.”

Sam and Dean only stayed for another half an hour or so – just long enough for Sam to prove to himself that he was fine, then Dean leaned in close to Sam's ear with a suggestion of what they could be doing if they were at home before announcing to the room that they were leaving. Sam couldn't get away fast enough after that.

The drive home was quiet. Sam leaned against the passenger window and watched the town pass them by, keeping his mind as still as possible. He could still feel adrenalin buzzing through his veins and it reminded him a little of driving home after a hunt. If tonight had been a hunt, then it had been one that they'd won – Sam had calmed himself down, after all, and gone back in. He'd proven to himself that his panic and fear didn't control him. He was getting better – he could see a future when he'd be back to himself properly, and this would just be another thing they'd conquered.

“I'm thinking Chinese,” said Dean suddenly. “That way we don't have to waste time cooking when we could be having sex.”

Sam laughed quietly and nodded his agreement. The evening looked to be pretty awesome.

****

That day wasn't the last of Sam's freak-outs, but it did mark the beginning of the end – after that, he was able to remind himself that he'd calmed himself before, that he could beat this thing. They went to the bar with Jack and Benny a few more times and every time they did, Sam got better at paying attention to the conversation and joining in as much as he could, rather than just focussing on keeping back the panic.

He started to let Dean out of his sight more, testing himself. The first time he managed to spend half an hour in the bedroom reading while Dean was watching TV in the sitting room without having to go check he was okay, he felt an enormous sense of pride, almost on a level with the first time he hit the bull's eye at target practice when he was a kid. He rewarded himself by going into the sitting room and completely distracting Dean from his show, using his mouth and hands. The book had been getting dull, anyway.

As Sam started to get back to his old self, Dean started to get restless. Sam should have seen it coming – Dean didn't have anything to do during the days while Sam was at work, and he was getting bored. There was only so much fine-tuning he could do to the Impala's engine, and their apartment didn't offer much entertainment beyond the TV.

Sam handed him the job pages of the local paper one Saturday morning and only scored himself a disgusted look. Dean dropped the paper on the table and said, “I'm not getting a freaking normal-person job, Sammy. I'm not exactly the 9 to 5 type.”

Sam scowled at him. Bored Dean was dangerous, and irritating to be around. So far, he'd taken apart and 'fixed' the washing machine, so that now it got stuck midway through the spin cycle and had to be gently nudged onwards; attempted to start a prank war with Sam by putting plastic wrap over the toilet, which had only resulted in Sam losing his temper and throwing a bottle of bleach at his head; and played his music so loudly that the building manager had come around and threatened to confiscate his stereo. Sam wasn't sure he could take much more.

“Maybe we should go back to hunting,” said Dean as if it was an out-of-the-blue suggestion, but Sam wasn't fooled. “I mean, it's not like your job is anything to write home about, and we do have all those weapons and experience.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. He couldn't go back to hunting until he was speaking again, he couldn't risk it.

Dean smacked his fist on the table with frustration. “Come on, Sam! You can't seriously tell me you're happy living like this. I can get not wanting to hunt alone, but I'm back now, and there's still evil to kill out there.”

Sam let out an annoyed sigh. There was no way he could explain so he just stuck with shaking his head again with more conviction and then stood up, intending to leave. Dean grabbed his wrist, holding him where he was.

“Don't just walk out,” he snapped. “It's bad enough you can't – or won't - tell me why not, you can't just walk out as well!”

Sam stopped and stared at him, gritting his teeth. He wanted to be able to just say it, just blast out that he couldn't go hunting because he couldn't risk Dean's life on the off-chance that he'd let a word slip out in the heat of the moment, but he couldn't, so instead he just let out a frustrated grunt.

Dean huffed out a breath and his grip on Sam's wrist relaxed. “Look,” he said, clearly trying to sound reasonable. “We don't have to go back on the road if you want to stay here for a bit longer, just...I need to be hunting, Sammy. I don't...it's what I do.”

Sam sighed and sat back down again. He shook his head again, sadly. He knew how important hunting was to Dean and how lost he was without it, but he just couldn't do it.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “What if I go on my own?” he said. “Just on a couple of small...” Sam grabbed tightly at Dean's hand, unable to stop his automatic reaction of burning cold fear at the idea of Dean going off hunting without him.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I figured,” he said tiredly. There was silence for a while, then Dean sighed and sat back. “Okay,” he said. “Guess I'll learn to fish or something instead.”

Sam nodded, trying to hide his relief. He wasn't naive enough to think that this wasn't going to come up again, but at least he'd bought himself some time. _Just a few more months_ , he reminded himself, then they could put all this behind them.

****

Dean didn't learn to fish. Instead, he took to doing target practice in a deserted field a few miles out of town, usually when Sam was at work but he dragged Sam along with him a few times. Despite the fact that he could feel Dean's frustration every time that he was firing at a tin can instead of at a monster, Sam didn't really mind going. It made him feel like they were just taking some time off from hunting, but still keeping sharp. They'd get back to that life soon enough – the months seemed to be passing much quicker this year, with Dean beside him, than they had in the previous years, which had seemed to just drag by. He was already halfway through the year, only six more months until he could speak again and finally tell Dean everything.

A couple more weeks passed and then Dean started leaving immaculately researched case files just casually lying around. Sam flicked through the first couple but left them lying where they were, and eventually Dean gave up and sent them on to Bobby. They never talked about it, but Sam could tell Dean was getting increasingly irritated. All he could see when he read the case notes though, were all the ways a hunt could go wrong – Sam yelling out for Dean without thinking about it in the heat of the moment, and then having to watch him get sucked back down into Hell with no hope this time of getting him back.

He bought a cheap calendar and put it up on the wall of the sitting room. He couldn't write the important date on it, but he found himself touching the day he'd be able to speak again a couple of times a week, just reassuring himself that it was getting closer.

On a bitterly cold, bright day at the beginning of February, they went out for target practice, but after a few shots, Dean put his gun away with a sigh.

“You keep going,” he said. “I'm going for a walk.”

Sam lowered his gun immediately and started to put it away. No way he was letting Dean wander off by himself out here.

Dean scowled at him. “I'll stay within eyeshot,” he said. “Keep your hair on.” He set off striding towards the other end of the field they were in and Sam hesitated, not sure what to do. It was clear Dean wanted to be by himself, but what if he got into trouble somehow and Sam was too far away to get to him?

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that they'd never seen anything out here; that if there was even a hint of hunt this close to their town, Dean would almost certainly have made sure Sam knew all about it; and besides all that, Dean was a grown man and a hunter, and he could take care of himself.

Dean was as good as his word – he went as far as the end the field then stopped, staring out at the woods. Sam watched him for while, taking in the familiar curve of his shoulders and the bow of his legs, then resolutely made himself go back to shooting.

Dean came back about fifteen minutes later, scowling to himself. “All right, we're going,” he announced. “Get your crap together.”

Sam glared at him, irritated by his tone, but unloaded and put away his gun anyway.

“There's no damned point anyway,” continued Dean bitterly. “We'll be stuck in this pissant town for the rest of our lives, if you get your way. And you always do – you'd think it would be easier to win an argument with a mute guy, not damn near impossible.”

Sam felt his scowl deepen. If he hadn't given up speaking, he'd be able to win this argument properly by telling Dean why he was so against hunting, and not just piss him off by keeping him stuck somewhere he hated for apparently no reason. Being mute was not making this easier for him at all.

They got in the car and drove back towards the apartment in tense silence. As they passed the town boundaries, Dean muttered, “Home sweet freaking home.”

Sam shook his head firmly in denial. He'd been living in the town for years and it had never even come close to feeling like home. He gestured at the car and Dean instead.

Dean glanced at him then shook his head slowly. “If that was true, we'd be able to leave,” he said tiredly. “I know you, Sam. You nest – you always did it when we were kids as well. Getting you out of somewhere you'd decided was home was like trying to get Mr. T onto a plane.”

Sam shook his head again, even harder. Maybe that had been true when he was younger, before he'd really worked out what was important to him, but now he just wanted to be wherever Dean was, even if that was some shack in the wilderness or driving around in the Impala till they were old and grey.

Dean let out a long sigh, but didn't say anything else and Sam was forced to let the conversation go. He added it to the list of things he had to make sure Dean understood when he could talk to him again.

****

Dean kept leaving the case files around after that, but he did it with a sense of resignation, as if he'd given up on convincing Sam and was just going through the motions.

Several more weeks went by, then Dean left a file on the coffee table with a photo clipped to the front that Sam recognised. He picked it up while Dean was in the shower and studied it. It was the nearby lake where he'd fought the water serpent, the last hunt he'd gone on before giving it up. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he opened the file and read it. There'd been five boating accidents in the last couple of years, with no survivors and no bodies for any of them.

_It's not fishermen on the shore getting dragged in,_ he thought, trying to reassure himself, but he couldn't squash the feeling that this was somehow related.

“It's real close to here,” said Dean, and Sam glanced up to see him watching from the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel. “We could do it on a weekend, if you...” He trailed off, but Sam could hear the 'let us.'

He half-shook his head, trying to hold on to his convictions, then looked back down at the file. There was an interview with the wife of one of the men who'd died in the last accident.

_“Hal was always so careful in that boat – I used to tease him about all the safety checks he did,” said Lydia Morris. “It's our wedding anniversary next week – I don't know how I'll get through it.”_

Sam's gut twisted. He'd managed to push aside the truth that hunting saved lives while glancing at the other cases Dean had left lying around, but he could remember the town beside the lake still, curved around the shore with almost more boats anchored out than there were cars in the driveways. If there was something wrecking boats and killing people, then it was the perfect place.

“There'll be more boats going out as the weather warms up,” said Dean. “Tourists flocking in.”

Sam remembered the serpent, the intelligent malevolence in its eyes as it had tried to kill him. Civilians wouldn't stand a chance if there was another one there, especially not tourists with only a vague idea of how to handle a boat. He rubbed a hand through his hair, trying to remind himself of just how close he'd come to talking on that hunt.

_But you didn't,_ said a treacherous voice in his head. _And you've had four more years of practice since then._

He glanced down again at the photo of the distraught face of Lydia Morris, and then up at Dean.

“Come on, Sammy,” said Dean. “Let's go hunt the hell out of something – it'll make you feel better.”

Sam rolled his eyes at him and Dean stepped forward, letting go of the towel as he did so that it fell, leaving him naked.

“I'll make it worth your while,” he said in an innuendo-laden voice. 

Sam snorted – as if he couldn't get anything he wanted from Dean almost any night of the week.

Dean moved up close to him and put his hand on Sam's neck, fingers curling around under his ear. “You really going to turn down a chance at this fine ass?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam dropped the folder in favour of grabbing said ass and pulling Dean close against him so that he could kiss him. Having Dean completely naked while he was fully clothed was really turning him on, and it was almost enough to make him forget all about lake monsters and dead husbands.

Dean pulled away from the kiss and smirked at him. “Knew you couldn't resist,” he said. “We going down there this weekend then?”

Sam hesitated, torn. Dean's face turned serious. “Sammy, you know we have to do this. People are dying. We can't keep hiding from that.” Sam felt himself weaken, and Dean clearly saw it. “I promise to be really careful,” he said quickly. “No stupid risks, no leaving you alone.”

Dean couldn't keep how much he wanted this – needed it, even – off his face or out of his voice, and Sam felt horrible. He was keeping Dean trapped and unhappy without this. He'd rescued him from Hell only to force him to stagnate in this town. Then he thought of the people who had died, and the people who might still die. If this was related to his earlier hunt, then it was his responsibility to see it properly finished.

“Come on, Sam,” said Dean, and it was the closest he ever came to a plea when they weren't in bed. That decided it for Sam and he finally nodded, feeling a ball of lead sink into his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a mistake.

Dean's face lit up. “Awesome!” he exclaimed, and kissed Sam as thoroughly as if he'd promised him a private gig by Led Zeppelin rather than a chance to risk his life while also getting cold and wet.

Sam didn't protest, pulling Dean even closer and running his hands down his back to his ass, then let his fingers slide between Dean's cheeks, one finger drifting across his hole. If he was going to do this, risk losing Dean for the sake of a hunt, then he damn well was going to fuck him first.

****

They drove to the lake on Friday night, Dean talking the whole way about lake spirits and water demons. He checked them into a motel, grinning so dirtily when the clerk asked if he wanted a king or two queens that he probably gave the clerk totally the wrong idea about why they were there.

 _Or maybe it wasn't quite so wrong,_ thought Sam when the first thing Dean did when they got into the room was to push him back against the wall and drop to his knees, blowing him fast and dirty, then leaping back up while Sam was still trying to catch his breath and announcing that they'd still be able to make it to the library before it shut if they hurried.

Sam waved a hand at him, trying to get a minute to recover or at least the chance to reciprocate, but Dean ignored him.

“I think the library is back towards the main street,” he said, jiggling the car keys in his hand. “They usually are.”

It wasn't. It was slightly out of the centre of town, down a road that Dean probably wouldn't give a second thought to. Sam grabbed at the keys and won them.

Dean looked surprised. “You want to drive?”

Sam nodded. He wasn't spending the whole evening driving in circles when he could get this research wrapped up quickly and then spend the rest of it in bed with Dean.

Dean looked wary for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.” A thought seemed to strike him. “Hey, you think we should hire a boat? Go and take a look at the crime scenes?”

Sam shook his head firmly. There was no way he was letting Dean get in a boat if there was a serpent out there sinking them.

Dean looked a little disappointed, but let it go.

****

When Sam drove straight to the library without a missed turn, Dean glared at him suspiciously.

“You got some kind of geeky homing signal on libraries, or have you been here before?” he asked.

Sam nodded reluctantly, and Dean's glare intensified.

“When? While I was in Hell?”

Sam nodded again and started to get out of the car. Dean grabbed his arm to keep him still. “On a hunt?” he asked.

Sam hesitated then slowly nodded a third time.

Dean huffed out a frustrated snort. “So you hunted alone, but you wouldn't hunt with me,” he said bitterly, then got out of the car. Sam sighed and followed him.

Dean headed straight over to the bank of computers and pulled up the archives of the local paper. Sam watched for a moment as he typed in 'boat accidents' then started scrolling through the hits and thought of how much quicker his own search would be if he could do the same. Instead, he headed over to the hard copies of the paper and started hunting through them for the articles from four years ago.

By the time he got back, Dean had printed out a map of the lake and drawn careful crosses where the boats had been found after the accidents.

“They're all clustered around this part of the lake,” he said, pointing out a large bay on the eastern shore. Sam thought back to the long night he'd spent tramping around the shores of the lake, and then put his finger on roughly where he'd fought the snake. It was just down the coast from the bay Dean had indicated.

“That's where the hunt was before?” asked Dean, and Sam nodded. He handed him the photocopies he'd made of the articles from four years ago, and Dean flicked through them quickly.

“Something in the lake was taking people,” he summarised, “and you wasted it?”

Sam nodded.

“You're sure you wasted it?” asked Dean. “It didn't get away and then change its MO to boats?”

Sam shook his head. That snake had been very dead, he'd made sure of that.

“So, it's probably not related?”

Sam hesitated. Just because that snake had been dead didn't mean that there wasn't another out there. He shrugged and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And of course there's no way you can tell me what you were hunting,” he muttered and glanced up. “Hey, can you draw it, whatever it was? Quick game of Pictionary?” He held the pen in his hand out to Sam and Sam took it automatically.

He just held it for a moment, shocked by how unfamiliar it felt in his hand, and tried to remember exactly what the book about his vow had said. It was only writing that counted, but where was the line between pictures and writing? Hieroglyphics would presumably count as writing, what if this did as well? He reluctantly gave the pen back to Dean. He couldn't risk it.

“Of course not,” muttered Dean, taking it. “Far too easy. Well, have you got any bright ideas about what to do next?”

Sam thought for a moment, then tapped the map again. What else could they do except go out there and have a look?

Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay. Not now, though, I'm starving.” He glanced back through Sam's articles, then at his own. “Seems like whatever it is usually hits around dawn or dusk. How about we eat, get an early night, then head out in the early hours?”

Sam nodded his agreement, hoping like hell that food would cheer Dean up enough for their early night to include his chance to pay Dean back for that blowjob earlier.

****

Getting up early in order to head out into the freezing cold of the very early morning was extremely difficult, especially when the alternative was to stay curled up in bed with Dean, all warm and cosy. Dean was wide awake almost immediately though, practically springing out of bed in anticipation of getting to kill something.

“Get up or I'll pull the blankets off,” he said when he got out of the shower to find Sam still in bed. Sam glared at him but got up. Knowing Dean, he wouldn't settle just for pulling the blankets off and getting a facefull of cold water was really not how Sam wanted to start the day.

It was even colder outside, and still dark. Dean drove them as close to the lake as the roads would take them before they started to cut through the woods to where Sam had fought the snake. He only lost their way a couple of times, which he thought was pretty good for trying to find somewhere that he'd only been once, over four years ago.

The sky was beginning to lighten when they made it to the right spot, and Sam stopped to look out into the water.

Dean stood next to him for a moment, then sighed. “Man, I wish I knew what I was looking for,” he muttered. “Can you at least let me know where I should be looking?”

Sam gestured at the water.

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Dean with an eyeroll. “Care to be more specific?

Sam pointed downwards and Dean frowned. “Something from under the water?” His face brightened. “Hey, are we hunting Nessie?”

Sam hesitated. The snake had been a lot smaller than people generally thought the Loch Ness monster was, but that was a lot closer than any other creature Dean had mentioned so far.

Dean's eyes widened. “We _are_ hunting Nessie? Awesome!”

Sam shook his head slightly, and then waggled his hand.

“We're sort of hunting Nessie,” interpreted Dean. “Good enough. You know, we really should get a boat.”

Sam glared at him. There was no way they were getting a boat.

They stood by the lake until the sun was fully up. Sam thought to himself with amusement that it would have been romantic – watching the sun rise together – if they hadn't been waiting for a lake monster to attack.

“It's not coming out to play,” said Dean eventually. Sam sighed and nodded his agreement. “If it's going after boats now,” continued Dean, “it's probably not going to go after people on the shore any more. Which means...”

He let his voice trail off when Sam scowled at him. Goddamn it, he was right. They were going to have to get a boat.

****

Dean hired them the fastest boat he could find, a speedboat with a cabin too small for either of them to fit inside.

“You've had some experience with boats, Jay?” the guy who hired it to them asked.

“Of course,” said Dean blithely. “Me and Bob have been kicking around boats for years.”

The guy nodded and turned away to find the paperwork. Sam twitched an eyebrow at Dean, aware that the only time Dean had been on a boat was a ferry when they were kids, and he'd been horribly seasick.

Dean shrugged. “I've seen Titanic,” he said in an undertone. “That totally counts. Besides, how hard can it be to drive one of these things?”

Sam really hoped this trip was going to end better than the Titanic's had.

It started out well enough. They loaded all their weapons into a duffel and carted them aboard, then cast off and set out for the bay on the far side of the lake. Dean took great delight in pushing the engine as fast as it would go, until Sam had to duck down below the level of the cabin roof to avoid getting spray in his eyes.

They anchored just outside the bay and loaded up their guns, Dean rambling on about firing bullets into water the whole time.

“If the target is too far down, the bullets won't get there – any further than a couple of yards, and you may as well save your ammo. Supersonic guns, though, their rounds just break up on impact with water, totally disintegrate.”

Sam raised an amused eyebrow at him, and Dean shrugged defensively.

“I watched a Mythbusters about it. I've had a lot of time to watch TV since I got back.”

Sam gritted his teeth at the reminder. Seeing Dean like this, in his element, was showing him just how lost and out-of-place he was in the life Sam had cobbled together. He really was made to be a hunter, and sitting around an apartment while Sam pulled weeds was eventually going to drive him nuts.

_Only a few more months,_ he reminded himself. It was nearly the end of March already, they just had to hold on for another four months.

They sat in the boat for a few hours, staring out at the clear, blue water. It was a calm day, only a trace of a breeze rippling the surface of the lake, and they could see far enough down to know that there was nothing down there.

“Maybe if I went swimming I could entice it out,” said Dean thoughtfully. Sam grabbed on to his arm with a tight grip. It was bad enough being out here at all, right in the path of danger, without Dean pulling one of his stupid tricks.

“Chill out,” said Dean, prising Sam's hand off his arm and taking it in both of his instead. “I was just kidding.” He glanced out at the water again. “Maybe if we had sex,” he mused. “I bet it'd interrupt us then – it's one of the horror movie rules, after all.”

Sam shook his head firmly. He really didn't want to get caught with his pants down by a two-headed snake, and besides, it was way too cold.

Dean sighed. “Spoilsport.” He didn't push it any further though, just turned so that he could lean back against Sam's shoulder.

It was another couple of hours, and the light was beginning to fade when Sam finally saw something. For a moment he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks – a dark shadow moving fast under the water - but then it got closer and he could see the outline of the two heads. Goddamn, there _had_ been another one. At least it looked smaller than he remembered. Hopefully this would be easier than it had been four years ago, especially from the vantage point of a boat and with Dean at his side.

He nudged Dean to alert him and Dean said tersely, “Yeah, I see it.” He wasn't looking in the right direction though, and Sam glanced over to see another shadow coming up from behind them. There was more than one.

He pulled out his gun, nudging Dean again and this time pointing at the shadow he'd seen. Dean glanced over and swore.

“Any idea how many there are?”

Sam shook his head.

“Great,” said Dean, getting out his own gun. They both paused in place, waiting for the snakes to get close enough to fire at, but they stopped just too far out, too deep down to be hit. A third shadow joined them, then a fourth.

“Fuck, it's a whole nest,” said Dean, and Sam glanced over at him. Of course – that explained why the other snake had been larger, and why its attacks had suddenly picked up just before he'd killed it. It'd had babies to feed. For a moment he felt bad about killing a parent and then he remembered that it had been trying to kill him and that soon, so would these ones, younger though they were.

A fifth one joined them and they all bunched together in a tight group for a moment, coiling closely around each other before spreading out again into a long line.

“The fuck?” said Dean, just as all five started moving at once, swimming straight for the hull of the boat. Both Dean and Sam fired the moment they were close enough and one of them hit a snake, blood spreading out into the water, but the others were moving too fast to be hit.

“They're going to ram us,” shouted Dean. “Hold on!”

Sam crouched down in the middle of the boat just as they hit, four solid impacts almost one on top of each other. The boat shuddered, dipping and swaying madly, and Sam had a sudden mental image of one of the pictures that had been in Dean's case file, of an upturned boat floating on the waves.

_If they get us in the water,_ he thought, _we'll be easy pickings._ He couldn't let that happen – he stood up as soon as he could, ignoring the wild rocking of the boat, and fired into the water again, hitting another one as they raced away, clearly going back for another charge.

_Only three of them left. They won't have the same force as before._ Still, the boat was already unstable – who knew how much more it would take to tip them out?

“If we go over,” said Dean, “get on to the top of the hull as quickly as possible.”

Sam nodded just as the serpents started coming back. Both he and Dean fired again, and missed, and then they ducked down to steady the boat with their weight as much as possible. The impact was less this time, but the boat was upset enough to ship some water over the side. For a heart-stopping moment Sam thought that was it, that the boat was going over, but then it righted itself again.

“Shit shit,” swore Dean, leaping back up to fire at them again. Sam followed a moment behind, firing at the two shadows that were swimming away. Dean hit one, just as Sam realised the problem with the picture.

“Where's the other one?” asked Dean.

There was a hissing sound from behind them and Sam turned to see the other snake rearing up out of the water, both mouths wide enough open for him to see every tooth. He fired wildly at it just as it came down half inside the boat, the weight of its body dragging the boat over again.

“Get it out of the boat!” yelled Dean, starting forward. The combination of his weight and the snake's on the same side of the boat nearly tipped them over, until Sam threw himself backwards to balance it, clinging to the opposite side and leaning out over the water as Dean shot the snake through the neck and then threw it off the boat.

Sam nearly lost his balance as the boat readjusted to losing the weight of the snake, but managed to tip himself back into the centre again at the last minute, bashing his knees on the deck.

“Christ,” gasped out Dean. “Maybe a boat was a bad idea after all.”

Sam glared at him then stood up. There should be one left – they had to waste it, then they could go home, Sam could get Dean safely into bed, and there'd be no reason for them to ever leave it again.

There was one problem with that plan – the last serpent had completely disappeared, not even a trace of its shadow under the water.

“Think it's running scared?” asked Dean. Sam shrugged. Running didn't really seem in character for these things, but maybe that serpent had been slightly cleverer than its siblings and knew a bad bet when it saw one.

The lake remained calm and clear, and Dean took the chance to reload. Dad had always said that even if it looked like the fight was over, there wasn't any excuse to be unprepared.

“Wait another half hour then head in?” suggested Dean. “We can come back out tomorrow, see if we can catch it unawares.”

Sam nodded slowly, eyes still scanning the water. They both stayed vigilant for another few minutes, eyes scanning the water, then Dean sighed and relaxed his shoulders. He pulled at his sleeve, which was soaking wet from heaving the snake off the boat. “You put a dry sweater in the bag, right?” he said.

Sam nodded again and Dean rummaged through for it, setting his gun down to take off his wet one. Sam gave up on looking for the snake and took the mostly empty clip out of his gun and felt in his pockets for a full one.

There was an implosion of water and a serpent reared up above the stern of the boat, almost twice the size of the ones they'd just dealt with and even larger than the one Sam had fought four years ago. _Dad,_ thought Sam in the moment of shock that followed. _The last baby went to fetch their Dad._

Dean was right up next to it, caught with his jacket tangled around his arms, and Sam's gun was empty. The snake reared back both its heads, clearly about to strike, and there was no time left, not even to think. Sam dropped his gun to the deck with a clatter, pulled his knife out of his waistband and threw himself at the snake, taking it by surprise as he slashed at one of its heads. It fell backwards, Sam following and then they were both underwater, Dean's yell of “ _Sammy!_ ” still ringing in his ears.

The water swirled around Sam, his clothes suddenly weighing him down as if they were made of lead. The serpent was right there with him, scales coiling about him, and Sam struck out blindly with his knife again. It was just like four years ago, except the snake was a lot bigger, the water was a lot deeper, and if he died this time, Dean would get sucked straight back to Hell.

There was blood in the water – whether from the snakes they'd killed earlier or from a wound he had already managed to inflict on this one, Sam couldn’t tell, but it was clear that the serpent was still alive. Its tail twined around his leg, pulling him down further, and Sam hacked at it, trying to get free. His lungs were beginning to burn – he'd not had a chance to take a breath before jumping – but he couldn't get away.

_So kill it first,_ he thought desperately. A bullet suddenly entered the water somewhere above him, but he couldn't glance away to look. He blinked at the snake surrounding him, at the two heads above him, and then struck out as fast as he could at one of them. He managed to stab it straight through the jaw, making it writhe and finally let go of his leg. He swam upwards as fast as he could, bursting through the surface and taking a much-needed breath just as the other head struck at him, teeth burying into his shoulder.

He let out a wordless cry and then there was another gunshot and the snake let go, falling back dead.

“Fuck, Sammy,” said Dean breathlessly, as if he'd been the one underwater. “Tell me you're okay.”

Sam raised a shaky hand and gave him a thumbs up. The boat was a lot closer than he'd realised – he was lucky he hadn't come up underneath it – and Dean grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in as if he weighed nothing.

“You ever do anything like that again,” Dean growled, but didn't finish the sentence. Sam collapsed back on the deck, soaking wet and exhausted, and Dean hovered above him, hands running over his body.

“Fuck, your shoulder,” he muttered, pulling Sam's clothing away from it. Sam could vaguely feel the burning ring where the snake's teeth had marked him, but a glance down revealed that it was nothing more serious than that, despite Dean's expression. He sat up and put his hand on Dean's face, trying to reassure him.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Dean. “I know. You're fine.” He looked at Sam for a long moment, then pulled him into a rough hug.

“Christ, you're wet,” he said when he pulled back. “We better get back so you can dry off.”

Sam nodded and let him turn his face away on the pretence of sorting the boat out to leave. He glanced over the side at the floating corpses, noting the fifth baby besides the adult. Dean must have shot it while he was in the water. He wondered vaguely if they should do something about them and then decided it was too much effort. If they did come ashore, it would just give the town a bit of local flavour for the tourists.

****

They drove back even faster than they'd gone out, which Sam found a little nerve-racking. He didn't really want to drown now that the hunt was over and all the snakes were dead, but Dean was bent on getting him back to the motel before hypothermia set in. He had a point – Sam could feel himself shaking uncontrollably by the time they got into harbour. Dean bundled him out of the boat and down the jetty, barely pausing when the boat owner appeared.

“What happened?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“He decided to dive in,” said Dean, handing back the keys. “I've got to get him back to the motel.”

The man nodded, watching them go as Dean packed Sam into the car, for once breaking his 'no wet clothes in the car' rule.

Sam felt as if he was watching it all from a step away, barely even feeling the deep chill that was setting into his bones. Despite it all, despite how close they'd both come to death and that it had been far from the smoothest hunt they'd ever been on, he still felt a sense of satisfaction. They'd taken out all the snakes and got nothing worse than a few bitemarks and a mild case of hypothermia in return. And, he suddenly realised, he hadn't even thought about speaking, let alone been tempted to do so, even when Dean had been in danger. Almost five years of conditioning was clearly enough to stop himself from doing it automatically.

Dean pulled the car into the motel parking lot with a squeal of brakes. Sam tried to open his door himself, but his fingers didn't seem to want to obey him. Dean yanked it open for him and Sam smiled at him in thanks. Dean didn't see it, too busy concentrating on getting Sam inside as quickly as possible to really look at him. He turned the heater in the room right up then stripped off all Sam's clothes, as businesslike as if they hadn't spent the last few months fucking every chance they could. He bundled him into a clean hoodie and pair of sweatpants then pushed him back into the bed and dumped all the blankets he could find on top of him.

“Stay there,” he commanded. Sam was happy to obey, curling up into a tight ball and flinching as he felt his own cold skin press against itself. His muscles tensed up, but he wasn't shivering anymore. That was probably a bad sign.

Dean grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dried off Sam's hair roughly. “Be easier if you didn't keep this so damned long,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Stupid girl hair.”

He let the towel fall to the floor and put his hand on Sam's forehead, then grimaced to himself. “Okay, looks like it's going to have to be shared body heat,” he said, starting to strip off his own clothes. “Don't get any ideas, though – no way we're having sex while you feel like a popsicle.”

He left his boxers on as if to reinforce his resolution, then crawled under the blankets with Sam, wrapping his arms and legs around him as tightly as possible. The warmth of his body was almost painful against Sam's skin but it felt really, really good. Sam flinched, then burrowed closer, trying to seek out as much of it as possible.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Dean. “And I thought your feet were cold enough on a normal day.”

Sam rubbed his feet up the back of Dean's calves in payback for that comment, and Dean twitched.

“Just stay still and get warm,” he said. Sam was happy enough to comply – he could feel the surface of his skin beginning to warm slowly already, although the heat didn't come close to touching the ice in his bones yet.

They lay like that for a long time and Sam half-drifted off to sleep. His brain lazily flicked through images from the hunt – Lydia Morris's unhappy face, the gleam in Dean's eye as he'd talked about getting to shoot something, the sight of the dead snakes, knowing they'd won and there'd be no more unexplained boat accidents in this town. The warmth of Dean's body, alive and so close, seeped through to his core, pushing away the cold of the lake water.

_This is all I need,_ he thought drowsily.

Dean shifted slightly, loosening his tight grip on Sam's body. “If you don't want to hunt again,” he said, “I understand. I'll get a civilian job or something – this one was way too close.”

That was so completely opposite to what Sam had been thinking that he roused himself enough to turn over, propping his head up to look at Dean properly.

“It's okay,” Dean said again. “I get it.”

Sam frowned and shook his head. He put his hand on Dean's chest, over his heart, where the tattoo was. The tattoo that marked him as a hunter, right down to the bone. Dean was made for this life and, Sam realised while thinking about his own tattoo, so was he. Hunting things, saving people – it was more than just a family business, it was who they were. No other life would ever fit them as well, and Sam was sick of feeling like part of himself was missing. He shook his head again and Dean looked puzzled.

“No what? No, you do want to hunt now?”

Sam nodded.

Dean stared at him for a long minute with narrow eyes. “You nearly drowned,” he pointed out. “We were both nearly eaten by giant watersnakes. Giant _two-headed_ watersnakes.”

Sam nodded again.

“And this is what persuades you to take it up again,” continued Dean disbelievingly.

Sam shrugged. It wasn't like he could explain it properly even if he could talk – it was just what felt right. This was the life they should be living.

Dean continued to look confused. “How do I know you're not just going to change your mind again when we get back?”

Sam didn't have an answer for that. He thought for a moment about pulling weeds while Dean chafed in some job that was below him. It seemed hard to imagine doing it for the next four months after being reminded just what it was like to hunt with Dean, how right it felt.

“All right, fine,” conceded Dean. “We’re doing this properly then? You're quitting your job so we can get back on the road?”

Sam nodded firmly and Dean grinned. “Well, okay,” he said happily, turning towards Sam. “Sounds like a plan.”

Sam grinned back then pulled him in to kiss him. They'd spent quite enough time in bed practically naked without actually doing anything – it was definitely time to rectify that. Dean kissed back, pushing even closer to Sam, and Sam really didn't feel that cold anymore. Besides, there wasn't a better way to warm up than sex.

They made out for a while, their kisses getting hotter and deeper while their hands started to wander. Dean ran his down to Sam's ass, then around to grip at Sam's cock.

“If this is going to go inside me,” he said, slightly breathless from their kisses, “then it'll need to be a bit warmer. Maybe I can help with that.”

He pulled away and disappeared beneath the blankets, and a moment later Sam felt the heat of Dean's mouth seal around his cock. He groaned out loud, then automatically moved his arm up to bite down on it. He arrested the movement before it was completed – if he hadn't called out when Dean's life was in danger, then surely he wouldn't just from this?

Dean flicked his tongue over the end of Sam's cock, then swallowed down in a sudden movement. Sam let out a choked noise and then bit down on his arm anyway. It never hurt to be too safe, after all.

****

On Monday morning when Dean drove Sam to work, he got out of the car rather than just driving away like he usually did. Jack looked up from the landscaping plans he was looking at and greeted him with a smile.

“Hey,” returned Dean. “Listen, I kinda need to talk to you. Me and Sammy are thinking about moving on – getting back to our old jobs.”

Jack blinked and glanced at Sam. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “Sam's been a good worker. He'll be tough to replace.” He looked at Sam, reaching out a hand to clap his arm. “If it's what you want, though. I guess I've always known that you were meant for bigger things than gardening.”

Sam grinned, hoping his face conveyed just how grateful he was. He couldn't have asked for a better boss over the last few years. It suddenly struck him how much he was going to miss Jack – hell, and Benny as well. He'd have to make sure they swung back through town every so often, especially after he was able to talk again. He wanted to be able to thank Jack with more than a grateful look.

“When you leaving?” asked Jack, clearing his throat.

Dean shrugged. “As soon as you can let Sam go. We figured you'd need time to find someone else – a week or two, maybe?”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “That quick?”

“No time like the present, right?” said Dean with a grin.

Jack half-nodded, lost in thought. “Yeah, I guess. You know, I've a nephew who might be interested – he hasn't really done anything since he dropped out of high school. If I give him some direction, it'd get me in my sister's good books as well.”

Dean grinned. “Sounds like a win all around.”

“I'll talk to him, then let you know,” Jack said to Sam. Sam nodded. “For now, you can get on with digging out the beds at the north end.”

Sam nodded a goodbye at Dean and picked up a spade. He tried hard not to watch him leave, trying to tell himself that he was beyond that, but somehow his eyes still followed the Impala until it was out of sight. _I'll get there,_ he told himself, heading to the back of the garden. He'd come so far already, after all.

****

Jack's nephew seemed pretty keen on taking Sam's job, especially after his mother had a long talk with him about his future, and his responsibilities, and having to start paying rent. Sam worked his last day that Friday, and Jack and Benny took him and Dean out for a drink afterwards.

“Here's to Sam,” toasted Jack. “One of the hardest workers I've ever had, and certainly the one who complained the least.” They chinked bottles and drank.

Benny cornered Sam before he and Dean left. “Hey,” he said, clearly already the worse for wear, “just wanted to say that it's not going to be the same without you. I know I gave you a hard time sometimes, but you've been good to work with.”

Sam didn't know how to react to that, so he just patted his arm then glanced at Dean for help.

“We're off,” he said. “See you later – I'm sure we'll be back through town at some stage.”

“Bye, Dean,” said Benny. “Sam. Hope your new life is awesome enough to get you speaking again.”

“Me too,” muttered Dean as they left the bar. Sam pretended not to hear him.

****

They sold the furniture from the apartment and gave away everything that wouldn't fit in the Impala to Goodwill. Sam kept the calendar though, folding it on top of the weapons in the trunk and ignoring Dean's twitched eyebrow.

Dean slammed the trunk shut and grinned at him. “Let's hit the road,” he said, and Sam knew he'd made the right decision just from how happy Dean was to be leaving this town.

They went to Bobby's first – both to check in and to see if he had any good cases, simple-looking ones to ease them back into it. They stayed the night, both of them on their guard against giving Bobby any hint that they were sleeping together. He knew almost everything about them, but Sam was pretty sure incest would be a step too far.

He looked over at Dean's slumped shape in the other bed and wondered for a moment why he didn't find it weird. They were brothers, after all; they'd grown up together, Dean had taken care of him for so many years. Surely there should be something in him protesting against this?

Dean let out a snuffling breath and turned over slightly, towards Sam, and Sam smiled to himself. Maybe that was all true, but so was the fact that Dean was all he had, all he wanted. Without him he fell apart, but together they could do anything.

The next morning, Bobby dug out a couple of articles about incidents in Sterling, Colorado. “Looks like a poltergeist,” he said. “Should be easy enough for you boys.”

Dean took them. “Thanks, Bobby,” he said and smacked the papers against Sam's stomach. “C'mon, kiddo, let's hit the road.”

Sam stifled a sigh at the bossy tone, hoping like hell that it wasn't going to be symptomatic of the way they worked together in the absence of his voice.

“You sure you should be calling him that?” asked Bobby, raising his eyebrows.

Dean frowned. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Well, you're not exactly older than him anymore, are you?” said Bobby. “You went away for a few months over four years and came back as if only a moment had passed, while Sam lived every second of those years. By my count, you're pretty much the same age now.”

Dean gaped at him. “No,” he said in a firm voice. “Hell no. I'm older – I'll always be older.” He glared at Bobby and then turned abruptly on his heel, heading out to the car.

Sam beamed at Bobby and gave him a thumbs up.

Bobby grinned back. “You take care of yourself, boy,” he said. “I'm glad you're doing better.”

Sam nodded in agreement, then headed out after Dean. It wouldn't do any good to give him too much time to brood.

****

Dean blew him in the car half an hour's drive away from Bobby's as if that would prove he was still the older one. Sam smirked to himself at Dean's obviousness, content to slump back in the passenger seat and watch Dean drive as they headed to Sterling. The poltergeist there turned out to be a gang of particularly malevolent gnomes, but they took them out with ease anyway, falling back into the patterns of hunting as if there had never been a gap.

They went through a string of hunts after that – a revenant in Indiana, the last remains of a vampire nest in Pennsylvania, some kind of fucked-up creature in Oklahoma that was more teeth than anything else. Dean managed to get himself injured in Wyoming, fighting a black dog that turned out to have a mate, and Sam freaked out for several days, unable to let him out of his sight even though it had been little more than a scratch. He calmed himself down after a week or so though, reminding himself that he was meant to be better now.

He was, for the most part. He didn't feel the urgent need to go with Dean every time he popped out for food, although if he wasn't back in half an hour he couldn't stop himself calling his mobile, just to hear his voice and know he was still okay even if he couldn't say anything to him. He started being able to let Dean go off to research on his own so that they could split the workload, although he flatly refused to consider separating when they were actually hunting. Dean didn't chafe at it as much Sam would have thought – he seemed pretty content to spend ninety-five percent of his time with Sam, filling the space caused by Sam's silence with every half-thought that crossed his mind.

By the time August rolled around, it was as if they'd never not been hunting. They were in a small town by the Missouri/Iowa border on the fifth anniversary of Sam's vow. He could hardly contain himself all day, jittering all over the place while Dean wrapped up the last details on a vengeful spirit case that had got a bit messy. The little boy who'd been slaughtering young men had been murdered by his babysitter's boyfriend and they had to gather evidence to turn over, anonymously, to the police.

“Man,” said Dean tiredly as they got back to their motel room. “I hate this shit.”

Sam nodded and sat down on the bed, bouncing a little on it. Only four and a half hours to go until midnight. He was stupidly glad that they were on a hunt in the same timezone – there would have been something anticlimactic about waiting until 11 or 1, somehow.

Dean frowned at him. “What's with you today?” he asked. “You've been all over the place.”

Sam just shrugged. He'd be able to explain properly, out loud, in just a few hours. Until then he couldn't be bothered with hand gestures or charades. He was so sick of not being understood.

“Whatever,” said Dean tiredly. “I'm thinking pizza and a shitty movie.”

Sam nodded. Whatever kept Dean awake and occupied until midnight. He glanced at the clock again. Four hours and twenty six minutes.

Dean got them pizza that Sam could barely stand to eat, then clicked through the channels to some action film that Sam couldn't focus on. Instead, he watched the clock ticking the last few minutes of his silence away.

When the second hand hit midnight, he felt a grin spread across his face. He'd done it! Five years of silence to get Dean free and clear of Hell, and he'd seen it through. The second hand kept ticking on, and Sam watched it. Somehow, now that he was able to, he couldn't bring himself to speak. What if the clock was wrong and it was too early? Better to err on the side of caution.

He kept watching as the minutes passed by, opening his mouth to speak only to find his throat closing up against the words. It was twenty minutes before he could even pull the air into his lungs for a word, and another five before he could force it out.

“Dean,” he said, quiet and hoarse. So quiet that Dean didn't even hear it over the explosions on the TV. Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean,” he said, louder this time but still as hoarse, as if his voice had rusted up.

Dean turned to stare at him, eyes wider than Sam had ever seen them. “Sammy?” he asked in wavering voice.

Sam smiled at him. “Dean,” he said again. 

It was everything he wanted to say.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] I'd Gladly Lose Me To Find You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702431) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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